Sticks and Stones
by Eligent
Summary: McGee comes to work with his arm in a sling and refuses to tell the others what happened. But the faiths of the universe conspire against him and soon he has no choice but to reveal his secrets.
1. Chapter 1

**Sticks and Stones**

**by Eligent**

**A/N:** This is my first venture into this fandom, or the first that I've posted anyway. I, of course, own nothing and am making no money out of this. And it's only fair to warn you: I'm not English speaking, so there will be mistakes. I usually do okay, though. Enjoy!

* * *

It was Monday morning and Tony was involved in his favorite Monday morning pastime; giving Ziva more details than she'd ever wanted to know about his weekend love life. Leaning back in his chair, his hands interlaced behind his head and feet balancing on his desk he was already on his Sunday night companion.

"…she had this small annoying, yappy dog, with pink bows and everything, and every time we even got close to the bedroom it would start squealing." Tony's face clearly showed his disgust with the very existence of such animals.

"Squealing?" Ziva questioned, standing in front of her desk, her butt resting lightly on its surface, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I refuse to call that sound barking. Barking is what Dobermans and German Shepherds do. That dog was squealing."

"So… you didn't get lucky?" Ziva asked, her forehead creasing in confusion.

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva…" Tony said with a delighted smile on his face. "The bedroom isn't the only room in a house."

She glared at him as Gibbs breezed by them, clutching his coffee cup. "Feet off the table, DiNozzo. This is not a frat house." He hit the feet with a file he was carrying, making Tony jump and take them down so fast he almost overbalanced and had to grab the desk to stop himself from toppling over.

"And would it kill you to actually start working when you come to work?" Gibbs said, moving towards his desk.

Tony gave Ziva a 'Gibbs is particularly grumpy today' grimace.

"Didn't your mom tell you that your face could get stuck like that?" Gibbs said, his back still to the pair.

Tony schooled his face into neutral. "McGee's late, boss," he said, trying to deflect the attention.

"No, he isn't," Gibbs denied.

"He isn't?" Tony looked surprised.

"Are you an investigator or not, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, staring at him.

Ziva, always eager to upstage Tony, immediately stood up straight and observed, "His computer is on and his backpack is here. I saw it when I came in this morning. He's somewhere in the building."

Tony looked over to McGee's desk, and sure thing, a discreet screensaver was running on the screen, what little he could see of it from his angle, and an errant strap showed that there was indeed a backpack stashed under the desk.

"Oh," was all he could think to say, before a smug grin settled on his face. "But he's not here, so he's late for…"

He was interrupted by the ding of the elevator and the arrival of McGee. He completely forgot what he had been planning to say and instead he exclaimed, "What the hell happened to you, Probie?"

Ziva and Gibbs also looked up and were treated to the sight of McGee with his right arm in a sling and angry red scrapes and scratches covering the right side of his face.

"Nothing," McGee replied, his eyes averted from his teammates as he walked passed them.

"Are you okay?" Ziva asked, scanning him from head to toe, taking in the slightly stiff walk and the ramrod straight back.

"I'm fine," McGee said, bending down with a grimace and pulling his backpack one-handedly up on the desk.

"Come on, McGee. Tell us what happened." Tony had moved up to McGee's desk and was twisting around him in dizzying motions to get a good look at his damaged face from all possible angles.

McGee let him look as he opened the zipper on the backpack and started rifling through its content.

"It's nothing, Tony, really."

"Yeah, right," Tony snorted, when Gibbs came up to the pair.

"Should you be here?" he asked with his eyes narrowed suspiciously, at the same time as McGee pulled a folded paper out of the backpack.

"Desk duty only for two weeks, boss."

Gibbs unfolded the paper and grunted in confirmation, returning to his own desk.

"Come on, Probie. Is it a sports injury? Did your computer blow up? Cut yourself shaving? What happened?" Tony stretched out a finger, trying to poke at McGee's cheek, but McGee evaded the movement.

"Let it be, Tony." McGee said tiredly. "It doesn't concern you. It happened on my own time and has nothing to do with work."

"Ah," Tony said knowingly. "So it happened during sex." He sounded very confident about his conclusion.

"It did not happen during sex. I haven't had time for sex this weekend," McGee said through clenched teeth, his patience with Tony running thinner that usual.

"Oh… touchy," Tony stage whispered to Ziva, but she ignored him.

"McGee?" she said carefully, coming up to the two men.

"What?" he snapped at her.

"You're bleeding."

McGee blinked dumbly at her a couple of times, having expected more questions. Ziva came up to him and pulled the lapel on his jacket back. A small blood stain was slowly growing on the front of his white shirt.

"Oh…" McGee said dumbfounded. "I must have pulled a stitch."

"Get down to Ducky," Gibbs ordered.

"Um… I think I'd rather go to a doctor…" McGee began.

"Timothy," a British voice exclaimed, coming from the direction of the back elevators. "I'm hurt. True, my living patients are few and far between, but I should think I'm quite capable of repairing a broken stitch." Ducky was now standing if front of McGee, who was blushing furiously.

"I… I didn't mean it like that, Ducky. No disrespect, honestly. I just thought that, well, it's kind of private and… well…"

"There must have been a woman involved then, right?" Tony said, grinning. "A lovers' quarrel gone bad?"

McGee turned to him, stabbing at him with his index finger. "Tony, so help me, if you don't back off, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

"You're gonna what, Probie?" Tony asked. Smiling widely he put his arms out, presenting himself as a target. "Shoot me?"

"I'll key your car," McGee said with his most menacing voice.

Tony's face fell. "You wouldn't." He turned to Ziva. "He wouldn't, would he?"

"I'll lend him my keys," she replied calmly.

"McGee, go with Ducky. DiNozzo, butt out." Gibbs had had enough. "And try to get a little actual work done for a change."

"Boss…" Tony looked hurt.

"Come along then, Timothy," Ducky said, putting the file he had come up with on Gibbs' desk. "We'll have you spick and span in no time."

McGee reluctantly trailed after him, his eyes shooting daggers at Tony.

* * *

Gibbs got to enjoy a few minutes of blessed silence until the shrill ringing of his telephone shattered it.

"Gibbs." His answer was curt as always.

"Hey, Gibbs. I've got something I think you need to see." Abby sounded unnaturally subdued and… was it nervousness?

"On my way." He slammed the phone down and stalked off without a word.

He was joined in the elevator by Mark Quinn, the leader of NCIS's second best investigation team. Quinn was a tall man in his forties with a range of facial expressions equally as small as Gibbs'. They nodded at each other.

Gibbs noted that Quinn made no attempt to push any button once Gibbs had chosen his destination. "Abby?" he asked, a little annoyed when Quinn nodded curtly. Gibbs hoped Abby's information for him was more important. He didn't want to hang around and listen to someone else's case.

Quinn harbored the same hope.

They entered Abby's dominion, and when she upon seeing them immediately turned down the volume on the CD player, Gibbs knew it was bad.

"Hi boys," she said cheerily, her eyes shifting between the two imposing men before her. "I've got the ballistic report on your double homicide from Saturday, Quinn, but I thought it was best if Gibbs heard it too."

"Shouldn't that have been my decision?" Quinn growled at her.

"Just thought I'd save you the time and trouble, Marky," she answered, not the least bit intimidated. She was probably the only one in the world who could call him 'Marky', without going home with her head in a paper bag.

"Okay," she said, clapping her hands together in a rather giddy expression. "Four bullets were recovered, right? Two from each victim. My tests confirm that they are all from the same nine millimeter Sig Sauer. The gun was easily traceable as it's in our system. You ready?"

"Abby, just show us," Gibbs said.

"Okay." She lifted the remote that turned on the plasma screen on the wall, but stopped before actually turning it on. "I should warn you, you're not gonna like it."

"Today, Abby." No one had ever accused Gibbs of being a patient man.

"Okay." She stopped herself in mid-motion again. "Maybe I should hold your hand."

"Abby!"

"Okay, okay." She pushed the on-button, and a familiar face appeared on the screen. "The gun is McGee's."

Gibbs pivoted on his heels and practically ran out of the lab.

"It was reported stolen on Saturday," Abby called after him. Not sure if he'd heard her or not she turned to Quinn and shrugged. Quinn looked like he was ready to bolt after Gibbs, so Abby put her hand on his arm to keep his attention.

"I've got your fibers, fingerprints and GSR analyzed too. You want to hear it?"

* * *

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

"Hop up then," Ducky said, patting the autopsy table invitingly.

"You know, Ducky," McGee said as he climbed, rather that hopped, up on the table. "I really didn't mean anything by what I said. Truly, no disrespect. I know you're a great doctor."

"I know, my boy," Ducky said as he gently helped McGee to remove his sling and jacket.

"It's just that sometimes it would be nice to see an anonymous face for these things. We work together every day, and this isn't even work related. You know?"

"Don't worry, Timothy. I'll be discretion itself." Ducky was patiently waiting for McGee to clumsily unbutton his shirt. "The time-honored practice of doctor-patient confidentiality has found its way even down into my dungeon."

"I know, Ducky. It's just a little embarrassing. And you're my friend." McGee carefully shrugged his shirt off the top of his shoulders to reveal a thick, bloodstained bandage taped to a spot right under his collarbone. "Where's Palmer?"

"Cleaning the coroner's van. He'll be a while yet," Ducky said, putting on rubber gloves. He peeled the tape off the bloodied bandage, peering over his glasses at what it'd been hiding.

"Dear heavens, Timothy," he exclaimed as the wound was revealed, "You've been shot!"

"I know," McGee said, looking away from him. "It's nothing, really."

But Ducky had narrowed his eyes as he pondered the swollen and damaged flesh. "Permit me to disagree. This is the exit wound. That means you were shot in the back."

"Yes, I know."

"I'm sorry," Ducky said quickly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just not quite what I was expecting. You were however right. The bleeding is because of a couple of torn stitches. But don't worry, that I can fix. What happened?"

"I don't know," McGee said. "I haven't been carrying anything heavy today. I thought the bus driver was driving rather erratic this morning. Maybe I was thrown around a little too much."

Ducky had actually been wondering how he'd gotten shot, but he didn't repeat his question. There would be time for that later. Instead he cleaned the area around the wound, cut away and pulled out the loose string, readied the suture and brought it up to McGee's chest, but stopped himself just before he pierced the skin.

"Oh my, I completely forgot," he exclaimed. "I don't usually have to ask my patients this, but would you like a local anesthetic?"

"It's just a few stitches, right?" McGee said hesitantly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Quite right. Two at the most."

"Then it won't be necessary," McGee decided. "I don't think it'll make much difference. I'm on pretty strong painkillers as it is."

"I should hope so. This isn't pretty." Ducky concentrated on the black thread for a minute before continuing, "What I don't understand is what you're doing here."

"Where else should I be?" McGee stared at a spot on the wall, trying to ignore what was being done to his shoulder. "Gibbs ordered me to go with you."

"I meant why you're here at work," Ducky clarified. "You should be at home, resting."

"At home, feeling sorry for myself, you mean," McGee said with a hint of self-loathing.

"No," Ducky said. "I meant resting. I know the squad room might seem rather testosterone charged, but for something like this, it's perfectly all right to stay at home and rest for a few days. When did this happen?"

"Friday night," McGee said, quickly changing the subject back to safer ground. "I'm just on desk duty anyway. Even if I stayed at home, I would be in front of the computer all day. I might as well be here and do something productive."

"I suppose. Perhaps I should speak with Gibbs, see about getting Tony to wait on you hand and foot for a week or two… hmm?" Ducky said with a playful smile.

McGee snorted, a bleak smile playing on his lips.

"There you go, all done." Ducky patted the last piece of tape in place on the new compress just as Gibbs barged in through the sliding doors. He shouldered Ducky to the side, placed his hands on the table on either side of McGee and leaned into him.

"Your gun was stolen and you didn't tell me?" His voice was low and menacing.

McGee's eyes shifted nervously. "I… I reported it right away, boss, both to the police and to the agency. I filled out all the appropriate paperwork and I'll get a new gun as soon as the doctor clears me. It will not affect my work."

Gibbs clearly wasn't placated. "You did all that, but you didn't tell _me_. What happened?"

"Some guys stole my car and the gun was in the glove compartment. I'm sorry."

"Are they the ones who shot you?" Ducky asked.

"Ducky!" McGee turned to him, accusingly. "What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Oh, dear." Ducky was clearly flustered. "I'm terribly sorry, McGee. I completely forgot."

McGee turned his head back and startled. Gibbs was if possibly even closer, their noses only millimeters from touching.

"You got _shot_ and you didn't tell me?" Gibbs' voice was pure steel.

"I… I… um… I didn't…"

But Gibbs wasn't interested in feeble apologies, instead he went straight for the kill. "Your gun was used to kill two marines on Saturday morning."

McGee paled noticeably. "He… he killed someone?"

Gibbs did a double-take. "You know who did it?"

"Yes," McGee tried to explain. "And so does the police. They've been looking for him since I reported the theft. What are you doing?" he asked as he felt Ducky tug on his shirt from behind.

"I just want to check the entry wound, make sure everything's all right," Ducky said comfortingly.

"That's not necessary," McGee said, trying to pull his shirt back on.

"Oh, it's no bother," Ducky said lightly, also pulling at the shirt and winning.

"Ducky, I said no," McGee said sharply, but it was too late, the shirt was already half-way down his back and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

After a brief pause he heard, "Oh, Timothy." Ducky's voice was heavy with sadness. "What did they do to you?"

Gibbs looked up from his intense scrutiny of McGee's face and looked at Ducky over McGee's head.

"This is just… oh, Timothy. Can I see? Please?" He pulled the shirt further down McGee's now unresisting arms, the white cloth gathering at his waist, his arms still trapped by the sleeves. McGee hung his head in shame as Gibbs moved around the table, McGee powerless to stop him from looking.

One look at McGee's back was enough for Gibbs' anger to dissipate completely only to flare up again, now redirected. He put a hand on McGee's tense left shoulder in silent support, careful not to touch anything.

"Who did this to you?" he asked softly.

"It doesn't matter, it's being taken care of," McGee said tonelessly, carefully avoiding looking back at them.

"Of course it matters," Gibbs said, sounding angry again. "And you're an NCIS agent; this is an NCIS case."

"It happened on my own time," McGee stubbornly tried, but it was a feeble argument, and he knew it.

"When it happened isn't important," Gibbs said. "You are NCIS 24/7. You are always our responsibility. Something that is equally important, however, is that this was done by someone who stole your gun and killed two marines with it. Like it or not, _that_ makes it a NCIS case."

He moved around the table to face McGee. "Quinn's team is already all over it, the evidence is with Abby, the dead marines are in there." He pointed to the coolers across the room and McGee's eyes involuntary followed his finger.

"So we'll let Quinn deal with it," McGee said, tearing his eyes away from the coolers. "I'll go talk to him." He made a move as if he was getting off the table, but Gibbs put his hand back on his shoulder, holding him still.

"Do you really think I'm going to let someone else take this case, _your_ case?" Gibbs' voice left no room for objections, but McGee tried anyway.

"That's not necessary. Quinn's good, so is his team."

"No," Gibbs bit him off. "They're not good enough. They're not as good as my team."

"Quinn will…"

"No. You deserve the best."

"Boss…"

"This isn't a discussion, McGee. I'm talking to the director right now." Gibbs practically ran out of the room, deaf to McGee's protests.

Ducky helped McGee to put his shirt back on in the uncomfortable silence Gibbs had left behind. "What's wrong, Timothy? Besides the obvious, of course."

"I don't want them to know," McGee said dejectedly, his head still hanging. "I didn't want him to know. I didn't want anyone to know. You were right; I should've stayed at home."

"I'm sorry I told him, Timothy," Ducky said, putting McGee's arm back into the sling. "I'm sorry if I forced you into something you weren't ready for. But it would've come out anyway. Things always do. And I don't understand why you don't want them to help. You're the victim here."

"Exactly," McGee said bitterly. "Gibbs doesn't need a victim on his team."

Ducky frowned. "What are you talking about? I've patched them all up for all kinds of things over the years."

"But have you ever thought of them as victims? Haven't they always come out on the other side as winners?"

"So will you, Timothy," Ducky tried to console him.

"How can I? How can I ever look them in the eyes once they know?"

"It won't be difficult. I promise you, you have nothing to be ashamed of. That's all in your head. You just have to trust them… trust us."

McGee looked up at him forlornly. "Trust…" he said slowly, as if he'd never heard the word before.

"Yes, trust. Are you ready to tell us what happened now?" Ducky asked softly.

McGee turned away from him. "I have to go. Thanks for all your help."

* * *

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Gibbs had left the squad room, Tony shot out of his chair and headed over to Gibbs' desk. The doctor's note McGee had handed Gibbs lay on top of his desk in plain view, and Tony's fingers were itching for it.

"What are you doing?" Ziva hissed at him, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

"What?" Tony defended himself, "You don't want to know?"

"Not like that," Ziva said, but Tony had already unfolded the note. After a moment of silence she asked, "Well, what does it say?"

Tony scanned the paper. "Special Agent Timothy McGee is to remain on desk duty for two weeks and is to retain active duty only after medical evaluation… blah, blah, blah. In other words, nothing, nicht, nada, njet, nil, zip und zilch." Disgusted, he threw the note back on the desk.

"Wow, I didn't know you were such a talented linguist, Tony," Ziva said sarcastically.

"I'm just full of delicious little surprises, Ziva, you should know that." He flashed her a toothy grin as he headed over to McGee's desk.

"You are not going through McGee's things," Ziva told him angrily when she saw where he was heading. He'd already picked up McGee's backpack, and she tore it out of his inquisitive hands.

"Ah, come on." He made a grab for it, but she moved it out of his reach.

"No."

"Please," he said, drawing the word out in a petulant whine as he made a lunge for the backpack. "Aren't you curious?"

"No!" Ziva said, turning around and shielding the backpack with her body.

Tony made another lunge. "Just give it to me."

"It's not yours," Ziva countered, twisting her body away from him again.

An odd basket ball-type match ensued, with Ziva playing defense, blocking Tony's passes, foreseeing his feints, trying to stay one step ahead. But in the end, Tony's many years of practice won and Ziva felt the backpack being ripped out of her arms.

"Aha," Tony said triumphantly as he held it well above her head, ignoring her angry glare, knowing she would be too proud to make a jump for it.

Just then the elevator dinged and half a second later the backpack had disappeared under McGee's desk, leaving Tony with empty hands and his most innocent look.

But the passengers in the elevator were only Abby and Quinn. Tony visibly relaxed, a state you couldn't accuse Quinn of being in. Tony wished he'd lived in a cartoon, then he would've been able to see smoke coming out of the other man's ears as Quinn rushed past them, quickly disappeared up the stairs towards Director Shepard's office.

"He doesn't look very happy," Ziva commented, looking after him.

"What's he up to?" Tony asked Abby who'd come up to them.

"Pre-emptive strike I would say," she answered him. "He's gonna try to stop Gibbs from taking his case. I stalled him as long as I could, I even lured him down to the garage, even though I'm nowhere near processing the car that the bodies were found in yet."

"The double homicide?" Tony asked with raised eyebrows. "Why would Gibbs want that?"

Abby's eyes grew big. "You haven't heard?" she asked breathlessly. "They were killed with McGee's gun."

"McGee shot two marines?" Tony asked incredulously and was subjected to a dual head-swat from his annoyed co-workers.

"Of course not, are you insane?" Abby said. "The gun was reported stolen Saturday morning. I read that in the database when I was tracing the bullets."

"Maybe that's when he got hurt," Ziva mused.

"McGee's hurt?" Abby sounded upset, twirling around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Is he okay? Where is he?"

"He's with Ducky and we think he's okay," Ziva said, calming her. "He's here, moving, talking."

"What happened?" Abby demanded.

"We don't know," Ziva said. "He won't tell us, keeps saying that it's private and embarrassing."

"Oh, maybe it happened during sex," Abby said, waggling her eyebrows.

Ziva groaned as Tony exclaimed excitedly, "That's what I said! Besides, what else could be so embarrassing?"

"It's McGee," Ziva said. "He gets embarrassed over such trifle matters."

"True," Tony agreed. "Of course… if Gibbs is trying to steal this case," something none of them thought he'd fail in, "then we should get a jumpstart on the investigation. Did it say in the database how the gun was stolen?"

Abby shook her head. "No, it was really just a notation."

"But there would be a police report, right?" Tony continued. "I wonder what the fastest way to see such a report would be…" He looked conspiratorially at Abby.

Abby smiled broadly at him. "Follow me, oh curious ones," she said. She moved around Ziva's desk, plopped down on the chair and started typing. Tony and Ziva crowded around her to see what she would find.

They heard the elevator ding on the floor above them. When the doors opened they revealed Gibbs, who looked, if possible, even more pissed than Quinn. He strode across the floor towards Shepard's office, determination in every step. Their eyes followed his progress, and they shuddered at the thought of the battle of titans their director would have to weather.

As soon as Shepard's door closed behind Gibbs and the distraction was gone Abby returned to her task. She wasted no time dipping into the vast computer resources available through her talented fingers and before long a triumphant "Aha," signaled that she had accomplished her goal. With greedy eyes they started reading the account of McGee's Friday night and early Saturday morning.

But soon their initial elation at finding the answer to the riddle turned to shock and then to horror as some of the worst moments of their friend's life were dissected in the report's crude police language on the screen before them. They read in silence, time stretching and bending around their reality as they lost themselves in an account of horrors they wouldn't wish on their worst enemy.

Abby hesitatively broke the shocked silence. "There… there are pictures." She was close to tears and her voice trembled as she moved the cursor over to the icon, letting it hover there.

"Do it." Ziva's voice was hard.

Abby double-clicked to open the file with the pictures, but as soon as the first picture showed on the screen, she whimpered and turned away. "I can't watch this," she said.

Tony too was feeling rather nauseous by now, and his throat felt unnaturally tight as the images were slowly and irrevocably burned into his mind. Without even realizing it, both his fists and his jaw were clenched tightly enough for his skin to turn white.

The back elevator signaled that it was about to make another stop on their floor, and this time its lone passenger was McGee. Immediately upon entering the squad room he was met by his teammates' faces, still huddled together by Ziva's computer. They showed a mixture of horror, sadness, pity and guilt as they stared openly at him.

McGee stopped cold. "Oh, god," he gasped. "You know."

"We read the police report," Tony confirmed somberly. "Why didn't you-"

But McGee interrupted him angrily. "How could you? I asked you to leave it be. I asked you to stay out of it."

Tony took a few steps towards him, his eyes suddenly ablaze. "How could we? No, McGee, how could you? How could you keep this from us?" Tony met his angry accusations with some of his own. Ziva put her hand on his arm.

"Tony…" she tried to calm him down.

"No." He shook her hand off, still looking at McGee. "We're your team! Some maniac puts you in the hospital and you can't even be bothered to pick up a phone? What kind of friend does that make you?"

"Tony," Ziva said again, sharper this time.

"Whatever." McGee just turned his back on him, picked up his backpack and turned around again. Abby came up to him and put her soft arms around his neck, her cheek against his.

"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered in his ear, but he pushed her away, deliberately misunderstanding what she was sorry for.

"No. You had no right to violate my privacy like that." He took a few steps. "Tell Gibbs I went home."

"You're not going anywhere, McGee."

They all turned and saw Gibbs coming down the stairs, Director Shepard following him.

McGee slowly let his backpack slide down his arm and back down onto the floor. He knew that look on his boss' face. It meant that the case was Gibbs' now and he would sink his teeth into it like a badger and not let go until he was well and truly finished with it, one way or another. Whatever control McGee had thought he'd had over the situation was now gone, and he felt overrun and completely washed out.

He backed up until he was standing with his back to Ziva's desk, his body slumping down in misery. The others surrounded him on all sides, cutting of all his escape routes. A feeling of entrapment and helplessness grew in his chest as he looked around and saw their faces. He just wanted to run. He wanted to be far far away where no one knew him or cared about what had happened to him. He wanted to lick his wounds in private, not in public.

Abby once again came up to him, wanting to hug him and this time he let her, hiding his face in her shoulder to get away from the looks on his teammates' faces.

"It wasn't your fault, McGee," Gibbs said gently.

"How can you say that? You don't even know what happened." Agitated he pulled back from Abby who reluctantly released him, but she stayed close enough to keep physical contact, wanting to comfort them both.

"Then tell us," Tony implored, having lost him momentarily shocked rage and now felt rather ashamed for having blown up at McGee when he needed it the least.

Looking around him, McGee realized that he no longer had a choice. They wouldn't rest until they knew everything. Maybe it would be better if they found out from him. No matter how unwilling and humiliated he was, he was going to have to tell them.

He was suddenly very aware of the ringing phones, the clattering on keyboards and the people milling around the big squad room.

"Not here," he pleaded.

"My office then," Director Shepard invited and McGee reluctantly nodded.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

As a group they walked towards the stairs, keeping McGee in the middle, as if they were afraid he'd make a break for it. But before McGee could begin his ascend, Ducky came out of the elevator and called him.

"Timothy, a word please."

The whole group stopped, but Gibbs waved the others on and to McGee's annoyance, he then waited with him for Ducky as the others moved on up the stairs.

"You had me rather concerned this morning," Ducky told McGee, "so I contacted the hospital after you left, and they told me that you checked out AMA, just this morning."

"You checked up on me?" McGee was livid. "You had no right! I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions."

"AMA?" Gibbs said with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

"Now, now, Jethro," Ducky admonished him. "There's no point in scolding the boy for doing exactly the same thing you would've done. And, Timothy, I didn't do it to spite you, I was just worried. From a medical standpoint I didn't think you should've been released, and I was meaning to yell at your doctor for it. And while I don't approve of you actions, I'm not going to yell at you either. I'm sure you had your reasons." He stopped and waited, but McGee didn't rise to the bait and explained nothing. Ducky sighed.

"Anyway," he continued. "I merely wanted to offer you a guestroom for a few days and my service in redressing your wounds and whatever medical assistance you might need as you mend. Don't worry, it's a big house, mother will never even notice. She doesn't go upstairs anymore, so you'll be perfectly safe."

"Ducky… I…" McGee was unsure of what to make of the offer.

"I'd accept if I were you," Gibbs said. "Not everyone gets an invitation to Chez Mallard."

"Okay. Thank you." In truth, McGee had been rather nervous about going home alone, just the task of cleaning his own back was daunting.

"Now that that's settled, I believe there are people waiting for us. Come on," Gibbs said with a gentle prod to McGee's good arm to show him that he wanted him to move. "You'd better come too, Ducky. This concerns you too."

McGee bit his tongue, knowing that he'd already lost the argument that this was no one's concern but his own.

They went up the stairs to Shepard's office, where the others had moved chairs from the conference table and gathered them around the small, but more comfortable, couch and coffee table. They'd left the armchair at the end of the table for McGee. The seat of honor. But this was not how he'd wanted to be rewarded with that position.

He sat down gingerly and the others quieted expectantly. He could feel their eyes on him.

"I… I don't really know where to start," he said.

"We'll do it just like any other interview," Gibbs said. "We know you were fine when you left here on Friday. What happened then?"

"I met a friend for dinner," McGee said, "and then I went to the gym. I was there pretty late; I think I left around eleven p.m. On the way home I stopped at an ATM. My friend and I were supposed to go to a comic book fair on Saturday, and I needed cash." He quieted for a moment, waiting for the ridicule that would normally follow such an admission, but no one said anything, so he continued.

"I… I guess I should've chosen one in a more populated area, but it was late and it was on the way home. It was just supposed to take a few minutes. I was still in my sweats from the gym, so my gun was in the glove compartment, as was my cell phone."

He stopped again and looked around. Abby had sandwiched herself between Tony and Gibbs on the couch, her head leaning against the arm Tony had seemingly casually draped over the back of the couch. Gibbs was leaning forward, with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes scrutinizing McGee's every move. Ziva was in a chair across from him, one leg crossed over the other. He knew she could don an impressive stone face, but this was like nothing he'd ever seen. The director and Ducky sat across from the couch, with Ducky closest to him. The director had a pen and a notebook in her hands, but she didn't seem to be writing anything down. Ducky's face was filled with concern and he nodded encouragingly at him when their eyes met. He looked down on his own hands. His good hand was clenched around the wrist of his bad arm. He just wanted something to hold on to.

Clearing his throat he continued. "I'd just gotten my money when I heard someone calling my name. It was Benny, uh, Benjamin Tucker, with two other men I didn't recognize. I still don't know who they are. I've looked at some mug shots, but… Anyway, Benny and I were roommates during my freshman year in college. We didn't get along at all, he was a… well, to make a long story short, towards the end of the year he stole an essay from me and handed it in as his. I reported him and he was kicked out of school. I hadn't thought about him in years, but he obviously remembered me."

"And apparently held a grudge," Tony said.

"Apparently," McGee agreed. "He came up to me, wanted to talk. Needless to say, I wasn't too eager to. I listened to what he had to say for a minute or so, but then I told him I wasn't interested in rehashing the past, and I turned around, to go to my car."

Disappointment in himself suddenly welled up in his throat. "I turn- I turned my back on him. I didn't think he'd be a threat. I never thought... I mean, we were just kids back then. I've grown up, I thought he had too. But he… he shot me. Without warning. I hadn't even seen the gun, I don't know where he was hiding it. I just heard the shot and felt it hit my shoulder. I stumbled and tripped over a fire hydrant, fell flat on my face. Before I could get up, they were all over me. They grabbed my arms and pulled me into an alley." He lost his train of thought as he remembered the overwhelming pain that had stolen away all his rational thoughts and left him temporarily immobilized and susceptible to their every whim. He hadn't fought back, he hadn't protested. Not even able to get his feet underneath him he'd just let them drag him. If only he'd been stronger, faster…

"Probie?"

McGee heard Tony's voice cut through the fog in his mind and he realized that he'd spaced out. Without looking up from his own fingernails digging into his skin he continued.

"They threw me down on the ground and one of them put his knee on my head and face to keep me down. I could feel the gravel… The ground was really cold…" Unconsciously he brought his hand up and touched the scrapes on his face.

"He also held my arms, pulled them up towards my head and clamped down on my wrists, his whole weight concentrated on those three points. I thought my head would shatter." He shuddered with the memory.

"The other one sat on my legs. And Benny, he… he had a knife. I could see him a little, out of the corner of my eye. It was a strange angle, but I could see his face… and his hand… and the knife… I could feel the blood pooling underneath my shoulder and I was lying in the middle of it. It stuck to my neck, to my hair…" He swallowed, hating the quiver in his voice and his inability to complete a sentence.

"He cut through my sweatshirt and then he… then… then he cut me. I couldn't…" McGee's voice faltered, but then he started talking so fast it was hard to hear what he was saying. "He kept saying that I had it coming, that he wished he could've done it years ago, that I should be branded with my true mark, so that others would know who I was. I don't know how long it went on. When he stopped I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. They released me, but still I couldn't move. I heard them move away and get into my car and drive away. I don't know how they got the keys. I don't remember if I was holding the keys in my hand or if they were in my pocket. I don't think I left them in the ignition. I never do that… but I don't remember. And I swear, I had no idea he would use my gun to kill someone."

"Well, of course not," Director Shepherd said.

"I… He didn't know I was an agent," McGee continued, not showing any sign that he'd heard her, or even that he knew that they were there. It sounded more as if he were talking to himself. "He must've been so surprised to find the gun. He probably never thought I'd have one. He must've thought it was a great joke to kill someone with my gun…" He trailed off, still not completely back in their world.

"How long was it until someone found you?" Ducky asked gently.

"No one did," McGee said. "I waited, but no one came. It was late, after midnight, there was no one out. I had to… I got up, walked," stumbled was more like it, he thought to himself, "to a pay phone. It wasn't broken. Small mercies, I suppose. And… and that was it." He finally looked up at them, raw pain filling his eyes as he was forced to remember.

"That was it?" Tony questioned, feeling like a lot of things had gone unsaid.

"Yeah," McGee nodded. "The police came, I was taken to the hospital, spent the weekend, and now I'm here. My car is gone, my cell phone, my gun… my dignity."

"Tim, no, never…" Abby said, but Ziva cut her off.

"Can we see it?" she asked with a steel voice.

"See what?" McGee asked, noticing her stone cold fury.

"Your back. Can we see it?"

McGee was shocked. "What? No! Why?"

"I just want to know how badly I'll have to hurt him when we find him," she said darkly.

McGee shied away. "No, absolutely not. You can't see it. Besides, you said you'd read the police report. I know there are photos, didn't you look at them?"

"It's not the same, McGee," Tony said seriously.

McGee looked at him. "You too?"

"Yes, me too. I want to know." Tony sat with his fists balled in repressed rage. He'd made the mistake of lashing out at McGee once, he wasn't going to do it again.

"Well, I don't care," McGee said dismissively. "I've never gone around peeking under your bandages when you're hurt."

"But we've never had messages carved into our backs," Tony said.

McGee stared at him incredulously. "Messages? Do you think that's what it is?"

"It's not as bad as you think, McGee," Ducky said. "Perhaps it would be best for all to see it in reality, instead of whatever their imaginations will concoct."

Once again McGee felt all control slip through his fingers, but this time it was replaced with anger.

"Fine, whatever." He stood up. "If that's what it's going to take to get you off my back."

He bent his neck to help slip the sling off and shrugged out of his jacket. His shirt was still bloodstained; he hadn't had time to change it. In his haste to get it over with he didn't notice the two buttons that gave up their tentative hold on his shirt and fell to the floor. The other buttons seemed to fly out of the buttonholes in fright. And his anger effectively killed the embarrassment of undressing in front of three women, one of which was his boss.

As the shirt fell away he turned around abruptly, presenting his back to the group. He could hear Abby's sharp intake of breath and the sound of the director's pen falling to the floor.

All over McGee's back words had been carved into his flesh. Big letters and small letters, the words crossed and intercepted each other in a morbid crossword puzzle. Some wounds were deep, others were shallow. Some had stitches and some were covered with butterfly bandages or crisp, white gauze. Geek, it said in big, uneven block letters. Nerd, freak, moron, idiot… the insults went on and on, covering his skin in a permanent taunt.

McGee let them look for about thirty seconds before throwing his shirt back on with a violent move that made his gunshot wound throb heavily.

"There. Are you happy now?" He took his jacket and sling and practically ran out of the room, refusing to even look at the others, his face burning in anger and shame.

* * *

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

McGee stood in the blessedly empty men's room, shaking with shock and frustration, absolutely horrified by the turn of events.

God, he'd been so stupid coming in today. What had he been thinking? He'd known it would be a huge mistake, but at the time he'd honestly thought it was his most rational option. He must've been high on painkillers at the time, because this had rapidly spiraled out of control.

His plan had been simple. He'd hoped that by going to work he would be able to keep a sense of normalcy, and the others wouldn't make a big deal out of it. Because if he was at work, then it couldn't be so bad, right? If he'd called in and said he was in the hospital… well, there would've been no stopping them then. He'd thought about calling in sick with something mundane, like a cold. But he couldn't have kept up the ruse of a cold for the time it took a gunshot wound to heal. Sooner or later someone would've stopped by to see what he was up to, and then he would've had a hard time explaining why he'd lied to them.

He'd thought he'd had a great solution. Go to work and deny, deny, deny all their theories, knowing that the theories would only become wilder and more far-fetched until the team hopefully got tired of asking. If only Benny hadn't killed those marines, then the facts of the case would've never been made known to NCIS.

But in retrospect he'd been naïve in thinking that they wouldn't find out. Tony wasn't exactly a big believer in privacy. At least not other people's privacy. They would've investigated, snooped and prodded until they'd found the police report, or hacked the hospital's computer or done something equally illegal to find out his secret.

But that would've taken time. Time that he'd badly needed to compose himself, time that he'd needed to put this behind him, to bury the experience until it felt far enough away for him to pretend that it hadn't really happened, not to him. Then he could've talked about it, without choking up and impress the team with his air of indifference and nonchalance. Hell, with some time to think about it, maybe he could've even preempted Tony's jokes.

But what had he done instead? He'd bled all over the squad room, freaked out in front of everybody and run out of the director's office and through the squad room with his shirt unbuttoned. As if this experience wasn't embarrassing enough...

He'd run past his desk and collected his backpack in which he kept a clean shirt. Wrinkled perhaps, but without bloodstains. Pulling himself together he began the arduous process of changing as his body had started protesting the strain that had been put on it today. The doctor had wanted him to stay in bed a few more days, but McGee hadn't felt that bad. Now he did. He hoped he could keep going throughout the day. He didn't want to show anymore weakness, he needed to gain back a little self-respect. If there still was any self-respect to find within him.

Turning around with his new shirt in his hand he met his own eyes in the mirror.

He couldn't believe he'd let them look at his back.

* * *

That was how Tony found him a little later, still fumbling with the buttons on his new shirt with fingers that felt like they were filled with lead.

Tony fidgeted, wondering if he should offer to help him or if that would just push him completely over his embarrassment threshold. But before he could decide McGee finished his task and his arms dropped to hang lifeless by his side, mimicking the rest of his body language.

The silence stretched between them as McGee waited for Tony to take the first step and hopefully give him an idea of what had transpired in the director's office once he'd left. Was he still one of them or were they now too disgusted to even look at him?

"How's the pain?" Tony finally asked, noting the crinkles of pain around McGee's eyes.

"I'll manage." McGee said stoically, looking at a spot somewhere to the right of Tony's ear.

"Uh-huh," Tony said unconvinced. "Where are your pills?"

"In my jacket."

Tony looked around. The jacket and the sling lay on top of the backpack on the floor, the discarded shirt next to them. Tony picked up the jacket and the sling and dug up a pill bottle from the jacket pocket, discreetly loosening the child-proofed lid. He looked at the bottle before handing it over. "Oh, congratulations. You've got the good stuff."

Without responding to the attempt at levity McGee took two pills, swallowed them with a handful of water and rubbed his forehead as he stood leaning over the sink. Tony handed him the sling and then leaned against the row of sinks, his arms crossed, the very image of relaxation.

"So…" he said.

McGee looked at him warily. "What?"

"So… how're you doing?"

McGee sighed and turned to look into the mirror, fastening his sling again.

"You don't have to play nice, Tony. I won't… I'm not going to break. You can behave normally."

There was a long pause as McGee fiddled with his clothing, still avoiding looking directly at Tony, who was regarding him closely, trying to figure him out.

"Listen, I'm sorry if we put you on the spot up there," Tony suddenly said, looking slightly sheepish. "But I don't understand why you are so embarrassed about it. We already know you're a geek."

"Tony!" McGee exclaimed aghast, staring at him openmouthed.

"What?" Tony said, shrugging. "You said to behave normally."

McGee turned away from him, not trusting his own reactions. Hysterical laughter was disturbingly close at hand.

"Seriously," Tony said, talking to his back. "We don't care what some looney thinks about you. We know the real you… Anyway, we could use you out in the squad room, when you're up to it."

McGee listened to the door close behind Tony before he dared turn around. Had he just heard what he'd heard? Had Tony just said what he'd said? In a weird way it had actually helped. If the general consensus was that he was a geek, then nothing had really changed, had it?

* * *

On the other side of the bathroom door, Tony stood leaning against the wall, a grim look on his face.

'That could probably have gone better,' he thought wryly to himself. Sometimes he was such a klutz.

At least now he could go find the others and tell them McGee had been found. And that he'd had enough for the time being. It was time to cut him some slack.

* * *

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

In the squad room it was business as usual. When McGee stepped into the area he studied his teammates closely, but there was nothing in their faces that hadn't been there last week and he felt relieved. This was what he'd wanted. He wasn't sure if it would last or if they were just giving him a break, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Then he looked at the plasma screen and the good mood that had been slowly making its way to the forefront of his mind was squashed.

"Are those the marines Benny killed?" he asked, looking at the pictures of two young men, obviously pulled from their service records.

"We don't know yet if it was Tucker who killed them," Gibbs pointed out.

"What?" McGee turned confused eyes on him.

"You told us he had two other men with him," Gibbs said. "There's no telling which of them took your gun. Or they could've dumped the car without ever finding the gun and then someone else found it."

But McGee shook his head. "No…, no it was Benny. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

"Your gut?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow.

"In a manner of speaking," McGee said slowly. "You didn't see him that night. It's just… I know it was him. He would never let someone else take the car, I'm sure that he took it because it was mine, not because he wanted it or needed it. When I knew him he had really big control issues. He would've searched the car, probably trashed it too. It hasn't been found yet."

"You know him well then?" Ziva wanted to know.

"No…," McGee said, sitting down behind his desk with a muted groan. "I don't know, I haven't seen him in years, not since he got kicked out of school. But we lived together for almost a year. Not exactly a match made in heaven. As you know I finished high school early, so I was a couple of years younger than him. He was into sports; he played basketball and football and worked out regularly. He joined a frat house, went to parties, threw parties. He was there for the college experience and because it was the alma mater of his father and grandfather. He wasn't really interested in school, while I… Well, you know me; I was interested in school, but not much else. It's really a shame too, he's really smart. He sailed through all his classes without hardly ever opening a book. He could've so easily written that essay himself, and gotten a great grade.

"Anyway, there wasn't really anything strange about him, there were a lot of people just like him there. I should know, most of them paraded through our dorm room at one time or another. Benny was very social. But Benny was… there was…. there was something. I can't really put my finger on it. It was like he was normal and weird at the same time. He had no boundaries, he was unpredictable, his mood could change without warning and it was impossible to figure out how he'd react at any given moment." He looked up, realizing that he was ranting. "Have you got any leads? Figured out where to look for him?"

"We have his last known address here," Ziva said, waiving a piece of paper in the air. "We we're just about to leave."

"You won't find anything there," McGee told her somberly.

"Why?" Ziva questioned.

"The police have been investigating this for two days already, remember? A detective came to see me at the hospital yesterday to give me an update and he told me that they'd been to Benny's last known address, but that he was subletting his apartment to someone else and that he hadn't been there in eight months."

Ziva sat back down. "We'll go there later, anyway. Where do you think he is?"

McGee shrugged. "I have no idea. I told you, I don't know him."

"We haven't gotten all the material from the police yet," Tony said. "We're busy going through Quinn's reports. It was a rather messy scene, a lot of physical evidence."

McGee swiveled his chair to face Tony. "What happened?" he asked, looking once again at the pictures of the dead marines. "Who were they?"

Tony gave him the bare facts. "Jason Kesler, 27 and Damian Newick, 31. They worked together at the motor pool in Norfolk. They were found dead in Newick's car. They'd both been shot twice in the chest. The car was found by a security guard on a parking lot behind a supermarket on Saturday morning."

Tony brought up the crime scene photos on the plasma.

McGee looked at the photos. Newick was sitting up in the driver's seat, his head hanging forward. Kesler looked as if he'd tried to get out of the car, he was laying half-way out the door, his legs still in the car, his upper body hanging out, caught up in the seatbelt. If the blood hadn't given them away, their vacant staring eyes clearly showed their deceased state.

McGee gulped and closed his eyes briefly. His gun had done that.

"Don't worry, McGee," Gibbs said, unusually soft. "We'll find Tucker. Ziva…"

"I'll look for Tucker's friends, family and known associates, work place, etc," she answered the unasked question.

"Right," Gibbs said. "Tony you take Newick and do the same thing, and I'll take Kesler. Let's see if we can't all meet somewhere in the middle."

"What about me, boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs turned to face him, a slightly uncomfortable look on his face. "You do realize that you can't be an active part on this one, don't you McGee," he said. "They're gonna need you as a witness when we take Tucker to court. You're too involved and we want a clean case, right?"

McGee looked dejected. "But I want to do something."

"Why don't you write down everything you know about Tucker then, everything you remember, everything you can think of. But you can't be directly involved in this investigation. Not officially, at least."

McGee looked at him. "Not officially. Got it boss."

He opened an empty document on his computer and started recording his thoughts.

* * *

McGee's typing was slower than usual, not only because he was down one hand, he was also rapidly losing his concentration. Thinking and talking about Benny had brought so much back. Not just memories, but other things too. He could hardly believe the person he'd been back then. He'd just let Benny walk all over him for close to a year and he'd never objected to anything. Nowadays he at least spoke up. When he got fed up with Tony and Ziva's teasing he showed it and told them to drop it. It usually didn't do him any good, but at least he didn't just stand there and take it.

But he'd been so young then. It was his first time away from home, and without a socially successful high school experience behind him he'd had trouble connecting with the older students outside of the classroom. Benny had taken one look at him when he'd first stepped into their dorm room, and seen right through him. He'd taken command from the first second and McGee hadn't gained back a single inch throughout the entire school year. He'd had no say in anything concerning their living space. He remembered what it was like waking up at four in the morning when an after party would be moved into his room. The lights would go on, the stereo would blast, people would sit or even fall onto his bed, mostly too drunk to pay any attention to the scrawny teenager that was trying to sleep in it. He'd taken to sleeping in a t-shirt, sweatpants and socks so he could just walk out of the room the moment the party began. It saved him a lot of hassle and unwanted, drunken attention. He'd learned the hard way not to keep many personal things in the room. They'd get stolen, or Benny would sell them or give them away to whoever fancied them. McGee hadn't been a roommate to him, he'd been part of the inventory.

McGee wondered what had possessed him to turn Benny in because of the essay. Maybe because he'd worked so hard on it, maybe he'd just been proud of his work. Or maybe it'd just been the final straw… He'd never stood up to Benny before and Benny sure hadn't expected it. Although Benny had taken great pleasure in poking fun at him the whole time they'd been rooming together, that night was the only time Benny had ever gotten violent with him. But when Benny got mad, he got mad…

…The door slammed into the wall… Benny was screaming at him… the cold glass of the window against his back as he'd backed up as far as he could… Benny's fist coming towards him… him ducking… the glass shattering as Benny's fist went through it… glass raining down on him… Benny grabbing him… pulling him up… being pushed up against the wall… the pain in his jaw… more hands, on Benny now, pulling him off…

The flashes of memory were assailing him from every direction. He'd gotten away with just a few scrapes and bruises that night, but the fear had been long lived. It was all so livid in his mind now. There were too many similarities…

* * *

Tony let his eyes wander away from the computer screen, looking around their corner of the squad room. Ziva had her phone squeezed between her shoulder and ear, talking while tapping away at her keyboard. Gibbs was glaring accusingly at his computer screen when it didn't yield the expected answers, and McGee…

"Uh, boss…" Tony said with a hint of alarm in his voice, standing up.

Gibbs looked up, followed his eyes and swore. "Call Ducky."

Ziva looked over, hung up on whoever she was talking to without a word of explanation and dialed autopsy instead.

"McGee," Gibbs said, rushing over and bending down until he was level with the unfocused eyes. McGee's face was sheet-white, sweat was beading on his forehead and upper lip and his breathing was erratic. "McGee, can you hear me?"

When he didn't get a reaction he resolutely took a firm grip of McGee's clammy neck and squatted down on the floor, pushing McGee's head down in between his knees, ignoring the pained gasps as the tortured back was stretched.

"Just breathe, McGee. Deep breaths," he said, rubbing McGee's neck lightly. He kept the pressure up until McGee became responsive enough to start struggling to sit up.

Gibbs let him go, but stayed squatted down, looking up at McGee, studying his face closely.

McGee was no longer pale, in fact he had taken on a pinkish tint in embarrassment over almost passing out in the squad room, or worse, almost puking on his boss' shoes.

"I'm…uh… Sorry about that," he said, his eyes darting between his teammates. "I'm okay now. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing, McGee," Gibbs told him sternly.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, hovering behind Gibbs. "What's a panic attack or two between friends?"

McGee glared at him. "It wasn't a panic attack. I just… spaced out for awhile."

"Could've fooled me," Tony muttered under his breath, but then he perked up as the elevator doors opened. "Ducky! Come, join the party. We've got a patient for you."

"Well, thank you, Anthony, party favors are certainly always appreciated," Ducky responded as he walked up to them and rounded McGee's desk. "Now, let's have a look."

"Oh my," he said after only a glance at the flustered McGee. "It's time to take you home and put you to bed, I think."

"Are you sure, Ducky," Gibbs asked, standing up and pulling McGee with him, watching him with scrutinizing eyes to see if he would be able to stand on his own. "Maybe we should take him back to the hospital."

McGee shook his head. "No, no hospital. I'm fine now," he protested feebly.

"Besides," Ziva said. "The hospital wouldn't have released him if they didn't think he wasn't well, would they?"

"They didn't release him," Gibbs said without taking his eyes off McGee, who was swaying ever so slightly. "He signed out AMA."

"You did?" Tony asked surprised, before frowning in confusion. "But wait, how did you get a doctor's note if you went AMA?"

McGee sighed. "Just because I signed out AMA doesn't mean I snuck out the bathroom window when they weren't looking, Tony. I asked for it and the doctor wrote it up."

"I don't think we need a hospital," Ducky said, "but I'd appreciate a ride home."

"Tony," Gibbs said. "Take Ducky and McGee home and then bring back lunch."

McGee looked up. Lunch? Had it only been half a day? His mind had been through enough for a week at least today. Maybe going to Ducky's place and sleep for a few hours was a good idea after all.

* * *

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

McGee stood in front of the ATM, tapping his fingers impatiently against the cool metal surface while he waited for the machine to stop grinding and spit out his money. It had been a long week and he was tired and wanted to go home.

"Hey!"

McGee flinched a little at the unexpected loud call, but didn't turn around or acknowledge it. It most likely wasn't directed at him anyway. He'd taken his money and was stuffing them in his wallet when the call came again.

"Hey, Tiny Tim, I'm talking to you."

McGee stiffened up. Only one person had ever called him Tiny Tim… He turned around slowly, letting the wallet slip into a pocket.

"Benny?"

A snide grin met him. Even though Benny looked different, that smile was the same that it had always been. He was older than McGee remembered him, of course, and bigger. He'd put on muscles, probably outweighed McGee by 50 pounds or more, and towered over him by at least four inches. His once pretty boyish features had grown handsome with the years. His dark brown hair was cut short and his blue eyes were looking McGee up and down, slowly.

"Well, well, well," Benny drawled. "Tiny Tim... Although you seem to finally have grown out of that nickname. Congratulations."

Involuntarily McGee cast an eye down his own body and then he cursed himself for falling right back into old tracks. Instead he tried to put on an indifferent facial expression and met Benny's eyes.

"What do you want, Benny?"

Benny narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to McGee and McGee had to use all his willpower to not step back. At a hand motion from Benny his companions moved in too, flanking McGee. He eyed them nervously.

"Listen, Benny," McGee said, a hint of alarm tugging at his consciousness. "It was nice meeting you again, but I have to go." He turned around to go, but Benny grabbed his arm.

"Not so fast," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "How long has it been since I saw you last? We have a lot of catching up to do. How 'bout a beer?"

"No thanks," McGee answered, pulling his arm out of Benny's grasp. "I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Now, now," There was a hint of irritation in Benny's voice. "Don't be like that, Timmy. I'm just offering you a night out and some reminiscing. Come on, it's Friday and barely midnight. Lots of bars still open."

McGee eyed him suspiciously. It sounded too good to be true, but he still didn't want to spend any time with Benny.

"No thanks," he said again. "Take care of yourself."

He turned around and started walking away again, this time unhindered. He couldn't help but feel relieved as he fished for his car keys in his pocket, wanting to feel their reassuring weight in his hand.

…then his shoulder exploded and a millisecond later he heard the sharp crack of a gunshot…

McGee's eyelids jerked open and he lay in bed panting. The first seconds were always the worst, when he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened, when he wasn't sure if he'd only heard the gunshot in his dream or if it'd been real. It always felt real.

Slowly his breathing evened out as his wakening consciousness took precedence over the dreamscape and he rolled over on his back before he remembered that that wasn't a good idea. With a groan he sat up, his left hand going to his right shoulder, rubbing it. It was throbbing in sympathy with its dream counterpart.

He had this dream, this nightmare, every time he fell asleep. Sometimes he got a few hours of sleep between them… sometimes he only got fifteen minutes. He'd had it so many times now that he could no longer separate what were actual memories and what was just a dream. Had he really felt the shot before he'd heard it? Was that even possible? Every time he had the dream Benny seemed more and more threatening. Was that his imagination too? Or had he really not suspected a thing when it happened? And why had he turned his back on him? It had gotten so far that he was second-guessing every move, every breath, he'd made that night. And he hated it.

But in a way he was glad every time he woke up. He didn't want the dream to go on; he didn't want to remember what had happened next. Anyone could be shot, that wasn't a big deal… Or well, of course it was a big deal, getting shot was always dangerous, always traumatic. But it was something you had to be prepared for in his line of work.

But the other thing, the thing that he couldn't bear to think about, the thing he didn't dare put a name on…

He looked at the bedside clock. It was still the middle of the afternoon, even though the heavy curtains that covered the window kept the room in complete darkness. He should try for a few more hours of sleep, it could only do him good.

He lay back down on his side and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired.

--

A few hours later McGee was sitting in a plush armchair in the spacious guestroom that Ducky had put him in, staring out the window. He'd been asleep most of the afternoon, but the nightmare just wouldn't leave him alone so he'd finally given up. He was stiff and sore from being forced to always lie in the same position and he didn't feel rested at all. He'd gotten up and pulled the curtains away and had since been watching the afternoon light fade away, feeling guilty about just sitting here and doing nothing while he knew his team was hard at work

There was a light knock on the door and Abby stuck her head in.

"Hey, McGee."

"Hi, Abby."

She quickly crossed the room and straddled his knees, lacing her hands behind his neck, looking very seductive. "I thought you'd might like some company."

"That's really nice of you Abs," McGee said evasively, "but…"

"Come on, McGee, you don't really want to turn down this one-time offer, do you?" She waggled her eyebrows at him, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Abby," he said calmly. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay."

Suddenly Abby's flirtatious smile turned into quivering lip motions. "No, you're not," she said with a small voice.

"Abs..."

"No, I saw what he did to you. And he shot you, Tim. He could've killed you." And with that she threw herself around his neck, squeezing him tightly. He could feel her crying against his neck.

"Shh," he crooned. "It's okay, I'm here."

But Abby kept sobbing, and McGee was starting to feel uncomfortable. Not only by having a crying woman in his lap, but Abby was also leaning hard on his gunshot wound, her elbow in a very unfortunate angle. And no matter how soft the chair was, it was not comfortable to have his back pressed up against it.

"Abby, Abby please…"

"You can't die, Tim. Promise me that."

"I'm not dying, Abs. But could you please…" His voice was strangled and he put his left hand on her waist, pushing her away.

She pulled back. "What?" Then she saw how pale he was.

As Abby leaned back McGee brought his good hand up to rub against his shoulder as he leaned forward and closed his eyes. There was a burning pain in his shoulder and he was trying very hard to keep it under control by breathing deeply though his nose.

"Oh, Tim," Abby said guiltily. "I'm so sorry. Hold on, I'll get help."

He could feel her get up from his lap and a moment later he heard her yell "Ducky!" at the top of her lungs.

Before long the M.E. was leaning over him, unbuttoning his shirt, noting his pallor, and the cold sweat on his skin.

"Dear me. You need to be more careful, Timothy," he scolded mildly. "Your injuries are not to be taken lightly."

"It was my fault, Ducky. I was hugging him too hard," Abby said, standing next to him, nervously twisting her hands, still with dried tears on her cheeks.

"Well, then you should be more careful," he admonished her.

The skin around McGee's wound was red and irritated.

"I'm sorry, Timothy, but it looks like the onset of an infection," Ducky said, putting a hand to McGee's forehead, but luckily finding him fever free. "I'll see about getting you some stronger antibiotics. In the mean time, I think this would be a good time for you to nap. Dinner's still an hour or so away."

"I've been sleeping all day, Ducky," McGee whined.

"But it doesn't seem to have done you much good," Ducky said. "And there's no reason to whine about it. Come on, let's get you into bed."

"I don't whine," McGee muttered grumpily. "Tony whines. I protest."

They helped him over to the bed and Abby spread a blanket over him.

"Come along then, dear," Ducky said, grasping Abby's elbow gently to steer her out of the room.

McGee was suddenly struck by an intense feeling of loneliness. He didn't want to be left alone with his nightmares.

"Abby?" he called after them. "Could you, maybe… I mean, if you want to… Could you stay? Not to… do… anything. Just stay?"

"Ah, McGee, of course I will."

So as McGee lay on his side, Abby kicked off her boots and lay down opposite him on the ample bed. She leaned over and gave him a very chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and then watched him dozing until Ducky called them down for dinner.

--

TBC…

--


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner turned out to be a working dinner as the rest of the team descended on the Mallardian home. It was mostly Ducky's doing. To keep McGee from fretting too much he thought it would be a good idea to keep him updated with the progress of the case. Mrs. Mallard had eaten an early dinner and was now seated in front of the television, arguing with game show hosts, her spoiled corgis running around her feet. Ducky proved to be quite the cook, which was a nice change to the team's usual take out diet.

They tried to keep their conversation light as they ate, wanting to do justice to the food and wanting to give themselves a much needed break. But McGee mostly pushed his food around the plate and didn't partake in any conversation. Gibbs observed him silently for awhile, and then swallowing the last of his peas, he pushed his plate away and put a manila folder in its place. McGee's eyes were immediately drawn to it. Tony and Ziva took their cue from Gibbs and also presented their files.

"It seems you were right, McGee," Tony started. "Tucker obviously wasn't interested in school, because he never made any attempt to get in to another college. About six months later his dad died of a heart attack and left him enough money to get by for quite some time. He seemed to drift around for awhile, but then he made some new friends and ended up on the low levels of an organized crime ring."

"Organized crimes?" There was no mistaking McGee's surprise.

"That's right." Gibbs said grimfaced. "I had his FBI-file sent over this afternoon."

"FBI-file?" McGee almost squeaked. "He's got an FBI-file?"

"Turns out he got involved in a street gang called the 68's about eight years ago," Ziva told him. "But the 68's are only front runners for a much bigger organization. They pretty much run a large part of the city. They control drug sales and prostitution in that area and run a protection racket. They use that money to finance their bigger crimes. Mostly drug smuggling, but also human trafficking. The FBI has been working hard on shutting down the organization's operations, but without success. They can never find any witnesses willing to talk and they are very good at covering their tracks. The only ones the FBI's ever able to catch are low-level scapegoats. But since doing jail time while shutting up is richly rewarded by the organization, and any talking is severely punished, the FBI hasn't been able to make any deals with them or gotten any of them to become informants."

Gibbs took over, sharing the information he'd gotten from talking to some of the FBI-agents on the case. "During the years Tucker's risen pretty high in the organization. He has a reputation for being smart and ambitious, but also vicious and merciless. Rumors also say that Tucker has become unstable and that the heads of the organization are losing confidence in him. He's become a loose cannon to them, but he's still very popular with the lower levels, especially with the street gang."

McGee stared unseeingly at the bubbles that clung to the glass of his carbonated drink as he listened to his teammates rattle off facts. It wasn't that he was new to this. He wasn't naïve, he knew more about crimes and crime statistics and the horrible things people did to other people than he'd never thought possible. He'd just never thought that someone he knew would be involved in such unsavory business. Even if it was Benny, and even after what he'd done to him, it was still hard to believe. So many lives affected by the actions of few…

"Are you okay, McGee?" Abby asked, seeing his lost facial expression.

"I'm fine," he answered distractedly. "It's just more than I was prepared for. I had no idea Benny had… I mean I just thought he'd just gone psycho and then it turns out he's a… a…"

"A professional psycho?" Ziva filled in.

McGee looked at her but couldn't find any way to contradict her. "Yeah, kind of. But, if they're that good at covering things, then how're we gonna find him?" he asked, wondering if his case was still a priority considering all the other things Benny was involved in.

Gibbs seemed to be able to read his mind.

"Oh, we're gonna get him, don't you worry. The FBI has a constant surveillance on several members of the organization, though not Tucker at this time. However, they've promised to let us know if they spot him. They would also be more than grateful if we put him away. It would make their job easier. And that we have a witness who is actually willing to testify against a member of the organization is considered a major breakthrough for them. It's been a long time since anyone could be convinced to do that."

Gibbs was looking right at McGee as he said that, proudly noticing the determined look on McGee's face. One thing you could always rely on was McGee's sense of righteousness.

This was, however, new information to Abby and she looked between Gibbs and McGee with fearful eyes, reading between the lines of Gibbs' statement. "Gibbs, why is it so difficult to find witnesses? What usually happens to them?"

Gibbs turned to her. "You don't have to worry, Abs. We…"

She interrupted him. "If you don't tell me, I'm gonna find out on my own."

Gibbs actually looked uncomfortable and ran his hand through his hair. "Most of them are never found. Some they only find pieces of."

Abby gasped.

"But you don't have to worry." Surprisingly enough, it was McGee who said that. "When Benny… I mean, what he did to me wasn't sanctioned by the organization, it had nothing to do with their businesses. I'm not a threat to the organization. And if his superiors are beginning to see him as a liability, then they might even be glad to get rid of him. I'm not in any danger, right?"

The others didn't look so convinced.

McGee turned his eyes from one to the other. "Really. If Benny'd wanted me dead, then he would've killed me when he had the chance, right?" He gestured to the files they'd been reading from. "You said yourself that he's without scruples, right?"

Gibbs sighed. Whatever self-assuredness McGee had hoped to show was negated by him asking for confirmation at the end of every sentence. But he had a point.

"McGee's right," Gibbs said.

"He is?" Abby said.

"I am?" McGee hadn't really been expecting a confirmation when seeing the others' skeptical faces.

"I don't think the organization cares about what Tucker did to McGee," Gibbs said. "I doubt they even know about it. And from the reports we've been given I don't think they'll care much about what happens to Tucker either anymore. But I don't want to take any chances."

McGee turned to Ducky. "Maybe I shouldn't stay here anymore. Just in case…"

"Nonsense," Ducky said. "Who would think to look for you here?"

"Ducky's right," Gibbs said. "You might as well stay here. One of us will be here as well. Here…" He tossed a set of keys over the table to McGee.

McGee looked questioningly at him, but it was Tony who told him what they were. "We took the liberty of changing the locks in you apartment."

"Oh… thanks." McGee hadn't thought of that. 'I should've thought of that two days ago,' he berated himself, but he hadn't even been home since Friday morning. The detective on his case had swung by his place to check for any signs of a break-in on Saturday since McGee's house keys, that were sharing a key-ring with his car keys, were missing. He'd been kind enough to bring McGee a set of clothes, so he'd been able to go straight from the hospital to work this morning. Now that he thought about it, the detective had said something about changing locks, but he'd been pretty wasted on morphine at the time and his memory was rather foggy. If it hadn't been for the clothes, he probably wouldn't even remember that the detective had been there.

"What about my place?" he asked. "Had… was…"

"Nothing was wrong, as far as we could see," Ziva said.

"But what about the marines?" McGee suddenly asked, having remembered the other aspect of the case. "We still have to prove that Benny killed Kesler and Newick. Won't the organization take offence to that?"

Tony shuffled some papers. "Jason Kesler was from that part of the city. He was never involved with the 68's, but his brother is. Rodney Kesler is eighteen. Ziva and I went to talk to their mother and according to her, Jason was doing everything he could to get Rodney out, but Rodney wasn't interested. That was probably why Kesler and Newick were down there on Friday night. We think they were killed in some kind of confrontation with the 68's. But remember, the only thing that even implicates Tucker is that they were killed with your gun."

"I'm telling you, it was Benny," McGee said stubbornly. "I know it was."

The others looked at each other, and then Ziva pushed a photo across to him. "Do you recognize him?"

McGee looked at the face of a young man, hauntingly familiar. "Yes… he was with Benny…"

"We know," Tony said. "His name is Logan Black."

"I've found two fingerprints matching him," Abby said. "One inside Newick's car and a partial one on… on the wristband of you watch. The police forensic department sent over the evidence from that night." She neglected to tell him how much it had pained her to handle his bloodied clothes, seeing the black gunpowder residues around the bullet hole in the back of his sweatshirt. Tucker'd been standing so close when he fired… it was a miracle McGee was still alive.

McGee kept staring at the man's face. Logan Black. That was the name of the person who had deliberately held him down, that had deliberately helped Benny to… He viciously cut off his own thoughts before he went too far. He didn't want to remember.

"That puts him at both crime scenes," Ziva said, pulling him back into the discussion. "But we have no physical evidence that puts Tucker at the murder scene."

"It was him," McGee insisted

"We'll find out," Tony promised him seriously. "Sooner or later. Because we _are _going to find him."

"And have you made any progress with that?" Ducky asked.

"Like I said," Gibbs said. "We've got the FBI doing surveillance for us, but they say that his comings and goings are rather erratic, another source of irritation to the organization. I talked to his brother today, but that was fruitless. He's either too loyal or too scared of his brother to say something, because I don't buy that he doesn't know anything."

McGee tried to remember what he'd heard about Benny's brother while they'd been living together. Not that Benny'd ever talked to him, but whatever had been going on in their room McGee had been a quiet observer too and he'd heard a lot of conversations.

"Yeah…" he said slowly. "They were always pretty close. I can't really see that having changed."

Gibbs nodded to him. It wasn't hard evidence that his gut was right, but it was a confirmation.

"What else?" Ducky wanted to know.

"He has a GSP supported cell phone registered to him," Abby said, "But it hasn't been turned on since I found it. I've got it on alert though. As soon as he turns it on, we've got him."

And with that it was over. No one had anything else to say. But McGee was impressed with all that they had been able to find and all the people they'd had time to interview in the few hours he'd been here resting.

Gibbs walked Ziva and Tony to the door and stood there talking quietly to them. McGee, still seated at the table, wondered what they were talking about, wondered what he wasn't privy to anymore. Abby was also sent away with orders to sleep tight, from Gibbs, and not to let the bed bugs bite, from Ducky.

Gibbs shut the door behind the others, declaring his intentions to stay the night. McGee bit his lip nervously. Gibbs had been looking so searchingly at him all night. What if he wanted to talk about what had happened? And even if he didn't, McGee couldn't really see himself making small talk with Gibbs. But you could always count on Ducky to effortlessly keep up a conversation.

McGee soon excused himself, but when his nightmare woke him up at night, he tiptoed to the door and was comforted by their muted voices from downstairs and every time he'd listened to them it took longer for the nightmare to return.

* * *

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning McGee rode to work in the back of Gibbs' car, once again using the chattering Ducky as a buffer to not have to talk and he only answered direct questions. He caught Gibbs' glance several times in the rearview mirror, but he wasn't sure what Gibbs wanted from him right now, and the surveillance was making him edgy.

That morning, in his bedroom, Ducky had looked him over and declared him fit for the lightest of duties, but the doctor had worn a worried frown as he'd stated that McGee looked tired. McGee had been sitting with his back towards the door as Ducky tended to it, but once when he'd looked back he'd seen Gibbs leaning against the doorjamb. Embarrassed he'd turned back and pretended not to notice.

McGee hated being under the microscope. He hated that his weaknesses were on show for everyone to see. He hated that he wasn't allowed to try and solve his own problems and that he had to sit on the sidelines and watch the others do his work. He hated that he wasn't allowed to stay on his own or have any say about what happened to him. At the moment, there wasn't much about his life that he didn't hate.

As they entered the NCIS building they split up. Ducky went to change into his scrubs, and Gibbs headed off for Abby's, making it very clear that he didn't want McGee to come. McGee wondered if they were going to talk about him, but then he berated himself for being so paranoid. And even if they did talk about him, so what? They were his friends… But he still wondered what they could be saying.

McGee sat down at his desk and powered up his computer, but was then left stumped. He didn't really have anything to do, as he wasn't allowed to work on the case, which was the only active case the team had, and he didn't really have the energy or focus to go into an old case. Normally, in such a situation, he'd go down to the lab and spend time with Abby. There was always something there that he could help with. But as he was now temporarily banned from there, he ended up restlessly walking the corridors, thinking about the briefing he'd been part of yesterday. Somewhere in that vast amount of information there had to be something he could focus on, something that would lead him to Benny. But which thread should he start pulling?

Suddenly he met up with Tony and Ziva, holding an uncooperative teenager between them and he realized with a start of guilt that they'd probably been working most of the night.

"Open the door, will ya?" Tony said as he caught sight of McGee, who when realizing exactly where he was hurriedly took a few steps back and opened the door to the interrogation room, stepping away to let them manhandle the kid into the room.

The door closed behind the kid and Ziva and Tony turned to McGee, wiping imaginary sweat off his forehead.

"Phew" he said. "If there were ever a kid who belonged in military school…"

"Who is he?" McGee asked.

"That's Rodney Kesler, Jason Kesler's little brother," Tony said, as he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Yeah, boss. He's in interrogation… Got it." He hung up and beckoned McGee. "Come on, we're in observation."

McGee studied Rodney Kesler through the glass as they waited for Gibbs. For someone who'd lost his brother only a few days ago, he didn't seem to be grieving, McGee noted. In fact, he didn't look sad at all, just surly. He was sitting so slouched down on the chair that he was almost lying down, with his arms defensibly crossed over his chest and he was glaring daggers at Ziva, who in turn looked very unimpressed with him. McGee suspected that it was all a façade, that Rodney was impersonating the person he wanted to be, rather than the scared 18-year-old he really was. A gang-persona would be hard to gain, but maybe even harder to maintain. McGee wondered how long he'd be able to keep it up with Gibbs, though. Rodney was after all only eighteen.

He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. Where had those thoughts come from? Since when was he an expert on the mentality of gang-members?

Tony peered at him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," McGee answered as the door to the interrogation room was slammed open and Gibbs made another of his unforgettable entrances.

Gibbs sat down across from Rodney, but didn't say anything. He just spread out a bunch of papers in front of him, leisurely flipping through them and waited for Rodney to become antsy enough to make the first move.

Rodney tried to stay tough, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering back and fort. He was getting nervous with the continued silence, and while Gibbs was steadfastly ignoring him, Ziva's eyes never left him.

When Rodney finally turned to Gibbs and grunted a defiant "What?" Gibbs wordlessly pushed a photo across the table. A photo of Jason Kesler, hanging out of the car, blood blossoming on his shirt, hiding the two gunshot wounds underneath it.

Rodney's head jerked up as if he'd been slapped, then he stared at Gibbs with hostility. "Why are you showing me that?"

"I thought you might like to know what happened to your brother," Gibbs said calmly.

"You can't tell me anything about my brother," Rodney sneered. "I already know what happened to him."

"So you were there when he was killed." Gibbs made it a statement, not a question.

Rodney twitched again. "Do you think you'll be able to trick me into something? I'm not gonna tell you anything."

"Not going to tell us anything?" Ziva said explosively, putting her hands on the table and pushing her face into his. "He was you brother. He was family. If you know what happened to him, then you have to help us catch his killer. You owe him that."

"I don't owe him anything," Rodney spat at her. "DNA doesn't make family, lady. The 68's are my family. They let me be myself. They've got my back every time. Jason didn't care about what I wanted; he just wanted to make me into a carbon copy of himself."

McGee frowned. It sounded like Rodney was just repeating something he'd been told, probably over and over again. Gibbs caught it too.

"And let me tell you," Rodney continued, apparently having forgotten that he wasn't going to tell them anything. "Jason got himself killed. It was his fault. I told him again and again to just stay away and leave me alone, but he wouldn't listen. I told him."

"He was your brother," Ziva said again, more emphatically. Gibbs frowned at her. Maybe Ziva wasn't the person to have in the room when it came to dead or murdered brothers.

"That doesn't mean he has the right to tell me what to do," Rodney vehemently argued with her. "He wanted me to join the marines, just because he'd done that. He wanted me to be him, but I wanted to be me. I don't want to be shipped out and kill a lot of guys who's never done anything to me just because some old guy in the White House has got a beef with some other old guy who can't run his own country."

"Oh, but killing a lot of guys on the streets because your boss has a beef with another drug dealer is okay?" Ziva asked condescendingly.

"I don't go around smoking dudes," Rodney said defensively. "We're just hanging out, having fun. You don't get it, just like Jason didn't get it."

"Your brother died." Gibbs said rather brutally. "One of you so called family killed him, simply because he loved you."

"If he loved me so much, then why didn't he listen to me?" Suddenly Rodney's voice broke, as if he were choking back tears. His defenses were broken. "It was his own damn fault. He wasn't supposed to be there. I told him to stay away."

"He was trying to protect you," Gibbs said softly.

"No," Rodney shook his head. "No, it was the other way around. I was trying to protect him. That's why I told him to stay away. He would've been alive if he'd just listened to me. He wasn't supposed to be there."

"What happened?" Gibbs prodded, deciding that Rodney was in the right state of mind to turn away his gang loyalties for awhile.

"I don't know," Rodney shook his head, still trying to get his voice under control. "It was all so messed up. We were just hanging when Logan, Pete and Benny drove up in some old, ugly car that was so not Benny's usual style. They'd beaten up some geek or something for it, and Benny had a new gun that he was really excited about. I don't get why, there wasn't anything special about it. But Benny was in a really good mood. It was almost like he was high or something." He looked up at Gibbs who nodded at him to go on.

"And then Jason drove up with some other military dude. The other guy, he didn't even get out of the car, he just sat there glaring at everybody. At first I went over there on my own, the others barely noticed. Benny was holding court like he always does when he comes down. And I told Jason to leave me alone and go away, but he wouldn't listen. He started yelling at me and suddenly everyone was looking. And then Jason grabbed a hold of me and tried to force me into the car.

"That's when Benny came up and got in the middle of it all. I begged Jason to give up and go away, but he picked a fight with Benny instead. That's definitely not something that you want to do. Jason always thought he could take on the world just because he was military, but in truth, he was just a mechanic. Benny got angry and pulled out the gun. The other guy yelled to Jason to get back into the car and he tried to, but when he tried to shut the door, Benny grabbed it and pulled it open again, pulling Jason with it and then he shot him. Just bang bang and then he was dead. The other guy he tried to drive away, but Benny just leaned over Jason and shot him too. Why did he have to come down there? I told him not too…"

Agitated, Rodney got up on his feet and turned away from Gibbs and Ziva, looking straight into the mirror, straight into McGee's eyes without knowing it. There were tears in his eyes which he stubbornly swiped away and his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

"He killed them," he whispered. "Benny killed my brother."

* * *

"I told you it was him," McGee mumbled, momentarily taken aback with the young man's grief as he was torn between his two families, two families that were constantly battling for his love and loyalty.

"Huh?" Tony said, looking to his side, only to see McGee's back, heading for the door.

"McGee? Where are you going?"

But McGee didn't answer him, and the next moment he was through the door. Turning to look at the technician handling the recording equipment he shrugged and bit his lip, wondering how to warn Gibbs. But the seconds ticked by, and McGee didn't reappear in the interrogation room, as Tony had expected. Tony frowned and walked over to the door, opened it and looked out into the corridor. It was empty. Where had he gone?

* * *

Gibbs urged Rodney back to the table, letting him collect himself for a few moments before asking him to continue.

"The others came up," Rodney said, his head down, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. "I could see that some of the guys felt sorry for me, but you don't cross Benny, you just don't. There's no telling what he'll do when he's angry. Logan tried to push Jason back into the car, said something about hiding it, but Benny pulled him away saying to leave them, that they didn't matter. He didn't think my brother mattered… Then he decided that he was in a party mood and took us all to a dance club, we didn't leave until five in the morning."

"You went out partying with the man who killed your brother?" Ziva's voice was full of distain. "It never occurred to you to go home to your mother?"

Rodney looked at her with a 'what else could I have done' look and Gibbs motioned for her to back off.

"Rodney, you do realize that we'll be arresting Benny Tucker now, right?

Rodney looked panicked. "No, you can't. He'll know I talked. He'll know it was me. He'll kill me too."

"No, he won't," Gibbs promised. "He won't even know anyone has talked to us until we've got him in custody, and once that happens, we won't let him go. He won't have a chance."

"Uh-uh," Rodney said, shaking his head. "He's got friends, he can get to me anywhere. There's no way I'm testifying."

"He doesn't have as many friends as you think," Gibbs said.

"No way," Rodney continued to refuse. "I'm not doing it. If you want Benny, you'll have to find another way."

"What about the car?" Ziva suddenly asked.

Rodney looked at her, not understanding. "I told you, we left them in it. We left it in the parking lot."

"Not that car," Ziva clarified. "The other one. The ugly one Benny came in?"

"Oh, that one." Rodney frowned. "I don't know. One of the guys drove off in it I guess. I wasn't really paying attention. Why?"

Ziva looked at Gibbs who quietly shook his head at her. It was better if Rodney didn't know about McGee.

"No reason," she said.

"We're done here," Gibbs declared.

* * *

Exiting the room, Gibbs let Ziva escort Rodney out of the building. He'd learned all he needed from the boy for now. They had his testimony on tape. It was up to a prosecutor to make it admissible.

The door to the observation room opened and Tony stepped out into the corridor.

"Good job, Boss," he said, giving him a thumbs up.

Gibbs looked over his shoulder and frowned. "Where's McGee?"

"Uh..." Tony's eyes shifted uncertainty. "He left."

"Left where?" Gibbs was clearly annoyed.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"When?"

"Right about when Rodney told you it was Tucker who's the killer. He said something about being right and left."

"And you just let him go?" Gibbs questioned. "Why didn't you follow him?"

"I didn't realize I was on baby-sitting duty," Tony said smartly, but inside he was nervous. Gibbs' reaction had made him start to worry too. But why? McGee had been fine, hadn't he?

* * *

TBC…

* * *

**A/N:** I don't have an exact timeline for this story, but when I first came up with the idea for it, we were still in the middle of season three over here and McGee certainty didn't have the money for a Porsche. Therefore I had no problem calling his car old and ugly.


	10. Chapter 10

Ducky walked into autopsy, leafing through the report he'd just printed out. He looked up and stopped in surprise.

"Timothy?"

It wasn't McGee's presence that puzzled Ducky, but what he was doing. McGee stood by the far wall, in-between two open coolers. He'd pulled out the slabs with Kesler's and Newick's bodies on them and was just standing there, his gaze shifting slowly from one lifeless face to the other.

Ducky absentmindedly placed the report on a work table as he walked up to McGee, moving carefully, as if McGee was a wild animal, easily spooked. He stopped a few paces away from him and studied his closed off face. It was impossible to read.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently.

McGee didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge his presence, but he answered the question in a sort of dreamlike voice, as if he was really talking to himself.

"Did I do this, Ducky? Am I responsible?"

"Those are some dangerous questions, Timothy," Ducky said carefully. "And I don't like it. You know just as well as I do that you have no responsibility in this. You didn't kill them."

The autopsy doors whooshed and Gibbs walked in, his steps slowing as he was immediately caught by the mood in the room. Ducky saw and acknowledged him, beckoning him to come closer, but McGee didn't seem to notice him as he walked towards them.

"I know I didn't pull the trigger." McGee said without looking up, still sounding detached. "I know I didn't kill them. But were they killed because of me? If Benny hadn't run into me that night, would he still have killed them? Did I change his plans? Did I make him late for something? He took my car. Would he have gone to the parking lot if he hadn't had it? And if he'd walked there, maybe Kesler and Newick would've been long gone before he came there. Did I change a good mood into a bad or a bad mood into a good? Did I change benevolence into violence? Rodney said that he was in a good mood because of what he did to me. Is that relevant? Am I responsible?"

"Everything Tucker did is on him, McGee," Gibbs said, pushing one of the slabs back into the cooler and closing the door. He took its place in McGee's line of vision and urged McGee's face up to meet his. "We are never responsible for other people's actions."

"But he used my gun, Boss," McGee said pleadingly, desperate for an embraceable explanation, something that would make this nightmare make sense. "That has to mean something. He had a gun of his own. He had the gun he shot me with, but he used _my _gun to kill them. Why? Did he think it wouldn't be traceable? Or did he want to frame me? But he would have to have known that I would go to the police and file charges after what he did to me. Or maybe he didn't... I was never any trouble to him before. Until that essay, I never told on him, I never reported anything. No one ever stood up to him…" He trailed off, his eyes shifting back to the body still on display.

"McGee!" Gibbs put his hands on the other man's shoulders and peered into his face. "Stop this. The most likely scenario is that he was just too stupid to think. Anyway, we'll get all the answers we want as soon as we have him in custody. Okay? So snap out of it."

McGee looked at him, blinking, shocked back into the present. "Right, boss," he said shakily.

"Good," Gibbs nodded to him, squeezing his shoulders encouragingly, careful not to put too much pressure on any sore spots. "Now go up to Abby and see if this clown has a cell phone we can trace."

"Right, boss," McGee said again and walked away, but turned around after a few paces. "Uh… didn't she do that yesterday?"

Gibbs pointed to the door. "Go, McGee."

"Going, Boss." McGee left the room.

Gibbs wearily rubbed a hand across his face and turned to Ducky who was pushing the other slab back into its cooler.

"Is he snapping, Duck?" he asked.

"No," the M.E. said. "At least I hope not. He's still in shock, and I don't think he's sleeping very well."

"So what do we do? Do I need to send him home?" Gibbs asked his friend.

"No, I don't think so," Ducky said, only the slightest trace of hesitation in his body language. "We have to keep an eye on him for sure, but I think keeping busy is a good thing for now, as long as he doesn't overdo it. He's still healing after all and this was more traumatic for him than he wants to admit. He just needs some time to come to terms with what happened. He'll be fine once he gets some closure."

"Then we solve the case," Gibbs said determinedly, always eager for a hands-on, practical way to help.

"That won't be a magic cure, Jethro, but yes it would be a good start," Ducky agreed and then sighed. "I just wish I could get him to rest more."

"Have you tried handcuffs?" Gibbs asked, only half kidding.

"Ah, yes…" Ducky said lofty, reeking with nostalgia. "Waking up tied to a bed, now there's something all young men should experience at least once. I still remember my first time. I was a mere lad of just 22. However, as it turned out, the girl in question was robbing me blind. She was beautiful though. You would've liked her, Jethro. She had beautiful, long, red hair…"

* * *

"Abby?" McGee called, trying to make himself heard over the music in the forensics lab.

Abby turned around from her workbench, safety goggles balancing on her nose, and waved at him with both of her gloved hands, looking overjoyed to see him. "McGee!" She bounced over to him with open arms, but he recoiled from her and took a step back, looking at her hands.

"What were you doing?"

Abby stopped and looked at her less than pristine gloves. "Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous." But she brought her arms down and peeled her gloves off. "So how are you? Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Gibbs said you needed some help with a cell phone trace," McGee said, avoiding her questions.

Abby's smile faltered, looking at his drawn-back face. She knew she'd messed up last night, but he hadn't seemed that upset about it, just in pain. And he'd asked her to stay. Did he regret that? She hoped not. It had been nice that he'd wanted her there, in a situation when he would usually just hide away to lick his own wounds.

"Abby? Did you hear me? What about the cell phone?"

"Right, come here." She led him over to one of the computers, turning down the volume on the CD-player on the way. "There's something really strange about Tucker's cell phone. It was turned on this morning, but ever since, it's been at the Monroe High School."

"A high school?" McGee sounded both surprised and skeptical.

"Yeah, weird right? At first I thought he might be there dealing drugs or something, but Gibbs said that he would have other people doing that for him. So I did a little detective work," she grinned proudly at herself, "and found out that he has a niece in that school. So I was thinking, maybe he gave her his phone to hide it? Send everyone on a wild goose chase?"

"Could be," McGee nodded approvingly. "But wouldn't the FBI have figured that out?"

"Depends on when he gave it away. Gibbs said he hadn't been under surveillance in awhile."

"True."

"The question is: how do we track him now?" Abby said, biting her lip thoughtfully. "He's probably got a disposable cell phone now, or one under a false name or something. I mean, we have a BOLO out on his car and the FBI's doing surveillance, but it doesn't seem to be paying off. I really thought the cell phone trace would work." Disappointment was clear in her voice. She wanted to solve this case… for McGee's sake.

McGee looked at the computer screen, and the small, blinking dot on the map marking Monroe High School.

"What about her cell phone?" he said, pointing to the screen.

"What?" Abby looked at him.

"His niece's phone. What happened to that one? I mean, how many sixteen-year-olds do you know who doesn't have their own cell phone these days? So did it break? Did her parents take it away, or…?"

"Or did Tucker just switch them…" Abby finished his thought for him, grinning at him. "I'll start looking for it."

"And look at the outgoing calls she's making. A lot of people probably still think that that's Benny's phone. I wouldn't be surprised if Benny pays her a little extra to forward messages and such."

Abby's facial expression turned sad. "What kind of person lets his sixteen-year-old niece get involved in this kind of business?"

"Probably the same kind of person that that beats up another person over a stupid essay more than a decade later," McGee said bitterly. "And who has no qualms about killing people without provocation."

"Oh Tim…" Abby took a step towards him, but he turned away.

"If there's nothing else, I'll go see if there's anything I can do in the squad room."

Abby watched his back as he walked away and her heart ached to see him so brought down.

* * *

McGee stood staring at the floor as the elevator moved up, his mind far far away. As the doors slid open, he took a step forward and looked up only to come face to face with Tony, who was blocking the way out.

"Where the hell did you go?" Tony was fuming.

"What?" McGee looked perplexed.

"You just disappeared, without a word. What were you thinking?" The elevator doors started to slide shut, bumped into Tony's shoulder and opened again.

"What's it to you?" McGee said defensively. "I just left the room. Since when do I have to report my every move to you?"

"Since Gibbs reamed me out for letting you go." Once again the elevator doors bumped into Tony and he took a step into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him.

McGee took a step back to accommodate his presence. He frowned. "But why? Since when do I answer to you?"

"Since you were put in protective custody, that's when," Tony said frostily.

"But I didn't even leave the building," McGee said, still not understanding why Tony was so upset.

"You still have to tell us where you're going!" Tony yelled. "If we can't even trust you to…"

McGee interrupted him, his anger with the situation suddenly bursting out of him. "Not trust me? What, Tony? What have I done that would make me untrustworthy? I didn't choose for any of this to happen. I didn't _want_ any of this to happen!"

"I know," Tony said, calmer now. "You're the victim here."

"Oh, please don't call me that," McGee said bitterly. "Don't think of me as a victim. I'm still one of you guys."

Tony frowned. "We know that. That's not in question. But you _are _the victim here and that makes a world of difference. And if you can't deal with that…" he stopped himself

"Deal with this and deal with that," McGee talked back, unable to stop himself from picking a fight he didn't want to have. "When have you ever dealt with anything that's happened to you? If you can strut around like some kind of superman, then why can't I?"

"Do you really think you know everything about me?" Tony said hotly. "You know, sometimes you're so…" Once again he stopped himself mid-sentence.

"I'm so what?"

"So… nothing," Tony said, turning around and stabbing at the button that opened the door, but McGee reached out and took a hold of his arm, stopping him from leaving.

"No, not nothing. Do you have something to say to me?"

"No," Tony said, not looking at him.

McGee reached around him and pushed the button that closed the doors again.

"Tony, what have I done?" he asked, talking to the other man's back. "Why are you treating me like this? Normally you bitch about me always being in the way and now you're freaking out because I left a room without telling you first. What's going on?"

"I just think you should've known better, that's all," Tony said through clenched teeth, cursing himself for having started this when it was so obvious that both of them were too hot-headed to have a rational discussion. He'd been too impatient.

"You know what, Tony?" McGee said angrily. "I have enough problems right now without you getting on my case. I don't need you guys dodging my every step."

Tony spun around to look at him, not believing what he'd heard. "I told you that as long as you're in protective custody you do."

"Then you can take me out of protective custody," McGee said stubbornly. "I don't need it. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, come on Probie. You couldn't take care of a goldfish and you know it." Tony hadn't meant to sound so spiteful.

McGee gasped, going pale.

Tony immediately became apologetic, regretting his lack of self-control. "McGee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I think you did," McGee said quietly. "And that's okay. That's your opinion. But I hope you'll forgive me if I don't share it." He pressed the button to open the doors and exited the elevator. "And don't worry," he called over his shoulder. "I'm not leaving the building."

"McGee!" Tony called after him as the doors slid shut again. Not quite knowing what he should do next he pressed the down button. Things needed to cool down before he and McGee could both pretend this had never happened and he decided that that was exactly what they were going to do. He'd find some other way to make nice with him again. Besides, he didn't want to have to face Gibbs while the fact that he'd screwed up was still so clearly written on his face. He decided to go hide with Abby for awhile.

* * *

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

Three long, fruitless, stressful, tense-filled days later it was Friday afternoon and almost a full week had passed since McGee had last known what a normal life felt like.

His face was almost back to normal, just some itching scabs remaining. His back was also healing, providing more itching scabs. His shoulder was getting better too, but he still relied on painkillers to get through his day. It was sometimes tempting to drug himself into oblivion to escape from his own thoughts, but his need to be there, to be a part of things, was greater. The need to take part of every scrap of information that was dug up, even if he wasn't allowed to do anything with that information. The burning need not to be left out.

Every morning he rode into work with whoever had had the pleasure of fighting off Mrs. Mallard during the night because he wasn't allowed to be alone. Then he spent long, long days behind his desk without any constructive assignments. The team kept him updated with everything they found out, but then they'd go out for an interview or go check out the crime scene or just do research and McGee felt totally useless. But he knew that his name couldn't be on any reports, except his witness report, or some nitpicky judge could throw the whole case out. It was extremely frustrating

Now they sat in the squad room, being temporarily paralyzed with inactivity. They'd turned every stone and talked to everyone they could talk with. They'd built a pretty solid case and now all that was left was to find Benny, hopefully with McGee's gun still in his possession. They knew that Benny would go down for what he'd done to McGee, his testimony was undisputable. But Rodney was still too scared to agree to testify voluntarily, and even though they knew that they could subpoena him, they wanted to find a different solution, one where Rodney wouldn't end up missing or dead. But without Rodney or any other witnesses, it was at the present difficult to prove Benny's involvement in the murders.

And between the inactivity, the lack of sleep and the medicine he was taking McGee was nervous, edgy and right out grumpy. The others had shown infinite patience with his worsening mood, but that somehow made him even grumpier. They'd stopped asking how he was two days ago.

Not that the others weren't short-tempered with frustration. They were rapidly running out of things to try. Tony's prediction that his and McGee's argument would be ignored had been correct. They now treated each other with exaggerated politeness, neither one ready to admit fault, both of them waiting for the other to take the first step. Although Tony sometimes slipped up and said something teasing.

At the moment McGee had been reduced to doodling. Irregular shapes and figures took form under his pen, without him paying any real attention to them. He was just too restless to sit still.

Ziva leaned against McGee's desk. "Pick a number between 1 and 206," she said.

"Why?" McGee asked suspiciously, looking up at her. Ziva wasn't usually one for frivolous games.

"Just do it," she said slightly annoyed.

"Okay," he said. "I don't know. Uh… 98?"

"98," Ziva said thoughtfully, then nodded slowly. "I can do 98. It might take some improvising, though."

"Do 98 what?" McGee wondered if he'd just unknowingly volunteered for something.

"I was just thinking about how many of Tucker's bones I'm going to break," Ziva said lightly.

"What? You can't do that," McGee sputtered.

"Of course I can," Ziva said matter-of-factly. "The trick is to start with the small bones, like the fingers and toes and work your way up."

"No" McGee said firmly. "I mean that you're not going to break anything."

Ziva was frowning, almost pouting. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to," McGee said simply.

"But… Why not?" Ziva repeated.

"Why would I?" McGee asked. "What good would it do?"

"Maybe it'll teach him some manners," Ziva said, not feeling like she should have to justify herself. "Teach him to not go around and torture people for fun."

"Benny's a professional criminal and drug smuggler, Ziva," McGee said exasperated. "Do you really think you'll be able to scare him straight by roughhousing him a little?"

"Breaking 98 bones isn't roughhousing, McGee, it's very serious," Ziva told him.

"Well, you still can't do it."

"Don't you want justice?" she asked puzzled.

"Yes I do, but not like that. I want to catch him and put him in jail where he can't hurt anyone else. There's a big difference between justice and revenge, Ziva. We're in law enforcement. We can't just go around and extract revenge at our whim." He quieted, knowing that not all of his teammates shared this view.

And right on cue Tony told him, "You're way too soft, Probie. We're gonna have to work on that."

"Well," Ziva said. "What can I do to him then?"

"You can arrest him," McGee offered.

"Where's the fun in that? How about if I break his windshield? Yes?" She looked hopeful.

"No you can't!" Tony told her. "According to the DMV he owns a 1981 Pontiac Trans-Am. That's a classic. You can't go around smashing Trans-Ams! Just stick with you original idea, break his legs."

McGee groaned and let his head fall onto his desk. Sometimes he felt like he was talking to a wall… the Great Wall of China, that was.

"Or maybe," Gibbs said, walking straight into the conversation like he always did. "Maybe we could catch him first and decide who gets to break what later."

"Got you, Gibbs," Ziva said, moving back to her own desk. "Not counting my ducklings."

"Chickens, Ziva, chickens," Tony said, as always enjoying her little slips.

Ziva stared challenging at him. "Chickens, ducklings, what's the difference? They both come from eggs."

"Not the point," Tony started.

McGee really didn't want to listen to yet another one of these arguments. "I'm gonna check in with Abby," he said, fleeing the scene.

* * *

McGee sat on one of the high swivel chairs in front of the computer on the lab bench. He was fidgeting a little. There really wasn't anything for him to do down here either, so he was swiveling from side to side as he watched fingerprints flicker on the screen in a dizzying speed as it was looking for a match to a fingerprint that had been lifted from Newick's car.

Abby grabbed the backrest of the chair, stopping him in mid-motion. "You know, a watched database never finds a match."

McGee turned to her, smiling bleakly. "You know," he told her. "Ziva just offered to let me deicide how many of Benny's bones she's going to break when we catch him." He grimaced, in his mind he could almost hear bones snapping just by thinking about it. He had to do something about that vivid imagination of his.

"Aah," Abby said, tilting her head and looking at him with soft eyes. "That's so sweet."

McGee blinked at her. "Sweet? Breaking bones are sweet now?"

"Well, no," Abby somehow managed to frown and smile at the same time. "It's actually kind of creepy. But that's the way Ziva shows that she cares. The more bones she's ready to break, the more she likes you."

"Oh…" McGee said, totally flabbergasted. "But it's still creepy."

"Totally," Abby agreed.

McGee turned back to the computer screen, studying it closely until Abby carefully bumped into his arm. He looked at her.

"What else is bugging you?" she asked.

McGee cursed his inability to ever hide anything.

"Nothing," he said.

"Ah, come on. What is it?"

"I… uh… It's nothing, really. It's just that… Tony called me soft."

"Well, you are a little soft," Abby said, letting her fingers flutter teasingly over his waist. "But I like it."

"Not like that," he said frowning, pushing her hands off him. "He thought I was soft because I don't want them to beat up Benny."

Abby drew back. "You don't? Why not? I have a good mind to take a whack at him myself."

"Well, apart from making sure he gets off the streets, I don't ever want to see or think about him again. And I don't need you guys to fight my battles for me," McGee said irritably. "I don't want to hurt him, I just want him to go away. I want everything to be over and for things to go back to normal. That doesn't make me soft."

"Of course it doesn't," Abby calmed him down. "That makes you human. But us wanting to see him dead for what he did to you, that makes us human too. We just want to stop him from hurting you. Cause he still is, isn't he? He's still hurting you, and he isn't going away and we want to take him away for you. We want you to stop hurting. Besides, don't you remember how you felt when Erin and Kate were killed?"

McGee stared at her, feeling ambushed, fighting his own brain to be able to find the right words. "I…but, no… I… NO. No, that was different, that was in the heat of the moment, I would never… I was just so mad… but it was different."

"It's not as different as you think it is," Abby said quietly.

"Yes it is," McGee was agitated, fidgeting in his chair. "I'm not dead."

"No you're not, but only by the grace of god. It could've gone either way, Tim," Abby said solemnly. "You could so easily be dead now."

"But still…" McGee tried to argue, but Abby cut him off.

"You know, McGee, one of your biggest flaws is that you keep insisting on selling yourself short. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that we care about what happens to you?"

McGee frowned. "Abby, I don't…"

But Abby interrupted him again, too agitated to keep quiet anymore. "No, because you've been moping around for days, feeling depressed and all and I don't blame you, I wouldn't be feeling very cheerful either if it were me. In fact, I'm feeling pretty awful right now too, all of us are. But if you can't pull you head out of the sand for just one second and recognize that we're trying to help you, then you're stupider than I ever thought possible. Ducky's worried sick because you're not sleeping, and Gibbs is bending over backwards to let you help with the case cause he thinks it might be good for you even though he would like nothing better than to take you home to his basement and keep you there until he's absolutely sure you're safe again, cause he's really scared that Tucker's going to come after you again if he figures out that we're investigating him. Tony's tripping over his own feet not to put his foot in his mouth cause he wants to prove that he's not Tucker and whenever he slips up and says something teasingly he comes down here and frets about it. Ziva's…well she's Ziva and I'm totally freaking out cause you almost died and now you're wallowing in so much self-pity that you can't even let me hug you and I really, really, really need to hug you. Right now." She stopped, panting breathlessly from her rant.

"Abby…"

"Right now, Tim," she demanded, even stomping her foot to give emphasis to her words.

Wordlessly McGee held out his good arm to her and Abby stepped into the embrace and closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his body and his breath on her neck and that was really all that she'd ever wanted.

* * *

Fixing things with Abby had been easy, but McGee had one more stop to make. About what had happened in that elevator… well, Tony had started it, but he himself wasn't blameless either. If he'd just seen Tony's concern and guilt for what it really was things could've been different. Instead he'd just made it worse. But he'd been one giant bundle of nerves, with no way of controlling himself.

When he arrived back in the squad room he headed straight for Tony's desk.

"Tony?"

Tony looked up, an eyebrow quirked in question. "Yeah?"

"I need a favor," McGee continued. "You know, I missed the comic book fair last weekend, but lucky for me, it's open this weekend too. Anyway, I need a ride. You up for it? It's gonna be really fun. I know this guy who mans a booth there, he wears this outrageous body makeup. Hey, maybe we could dress up too. What do you think?"

McGee could actually see the struggle on Tony's face, but what came out was a strangled, "Sure Probie, love to."

"Tony, stop it," McGee said seriously.

Tony looked surprised. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

"Exactly. You're being… nice. It's disconcerting."

"What? That doesn't make sense."

"I mean, you haven't even called me McGeek in days."

"I thought you didn't like that." Tony was now thoroughly confused.

"I don't, but you do. And if I've put up with it this far, then I don't think it's gonna send me over the edge now. So please say something before you have an aneurysm."

Tony watched him a moment longer, gauging his seriousness, before almost exploding with relief. "Body paint? No way, Probie! The only way any body paint is gonna end up on my body is if it's made out of chocolate and applied by a super model. And while we're on the subject…"

Gibbs smirked at them when his phone rang. A minute later he hung up the phone with the closest thing to a whoop he'd ever come.

"That was the FBI, one of their stakeouts just spotted Tucker. We've got a location, let's go."

Tony and Ziva immediately geared up, but McGee stood uncertain.

"Boss, can I come?"

Gibbs made a face, but relented.

"Yeah, okay. But you stay in the car, all right?"

* * *

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

McGee and Tony sat in the back of Gibbs' sedan as it sped though the city with Ziva riding shotgun, Tony sitting behind her. McGee was staring blankly out his window, nervously drumming his fingers against his legs when Tony spoke to him.

"So, are you excited?"

McGee turned his head, looking at Tony. "Excited?"

"Yeah, we're finally going to get Tucker." Tony's body was humming with adrenaline in anticipation of the upcoming raid.

McGee turned his head away again. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Tony, we don't have him yet."

"Don't be so pessimistic, McGee," Tony said. "This is the best chance we've had all week. You're finally going to get your confrontation."

McGee turned to him again. "My confrontation? What are you talking about?"

Tony elaborated. "You can stand up to Tucker, show him that you're the one in control. Confront him on what he did to you. Get some payback."

But McGee sadly shook his head. "There's no point, Tony. He wouldn't care. I mean, haven't you noticed how out of it he is? It would be like trying to argue with a fanatic. He thinks he was in his full right to do whatever he wanted to do to me and nothing we say or do would make any difference in that regard. He thinks he has every right to run his little part of the world the way he sees fit. That's why it would be so useless to beat him up…" he paused and looked at Ziva, seeing her head tilted slightly towards him. She was definitely listening.

"…If you do, he's just going to enjoy it," McGee continued. "Well, not the pain maybe, but he'll be laughing at you the whole time, thinking about how misguided you are for siding with me. He doesn't see right and wrong the way we do. He killed Jason Kesler right in front of Kesler's little brother, and then took said brother out clubbing. That doesn't exactly indicate a functioning moral compass."

"He's right," Ziva said. "And going to prison will be martyrdom for him."

McGee nodded. "I must admit that that bugs me, that he won't see it as a punishment. But it's the best we can do. We have to get him off the streets."

"When did you figure all this out?" Tony wondered with slight admiration.

"I've had a lot of free time lately," McGee said wryly. "So I studied him."

"Studied him?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't mean obsessed over him."

"No," McGee said. "In… in a way, it helps me. It's easier to come to peace with the… uh… the incident, knowing that he's… knowing that there's nothing I could've done. Yes, it was a personal attack on me, but at the same time it wasn't. He just wasn't able to react any other way in that situation. It doesn't solve things over night, it doesn't solve everything… but it helps."

"Good," Tony said, nodding. "I'm glad. Whatever works for you, Probie."

"We're here," Gibbs announced, slowing down and turning onto a street.

McGee looked out. Long rows of identical one-story houses met his eyes, some made more individual by a bold choice in house color or thoughtful gardening. Here and there toys littered a front yard. A few cars were parked along the street, none of them very new. There were no garages or driveways attached to the houses, they were too small. This wasn't a white picket fence area. This was where you waited for and dreamed of a white picket fence and a two-car garage.

Gibbs slowed the car down and parked behind another car, rather similar to his own. The FBI. Doors opened on both cars and all agents stepped out.

McGee also opened his car door to get out, but suddenly Gibbs was in the way. With one arm on the open car door and the other one on the roof he leaned in and fixed McGee with his eyes.

"You're staying in the car, McGee, remember?" he said.

"But, boss…"

"No. Not only are you currently off active duty, I've also told you again and again that you can have no active part in this investigation. I did you a favor by letting you tag along, but this is as far as you go. Understood?"

"Understood," McGee resigned.

Gibbs looked at him for another moment, then he fished up his back up gun from his ankle holster and held it out to McGee. "Just in case," he said. "But you're not to move."

He looked at Ziva and Tony. "Let's go," he said, putting his earpiece in, visually confirming that the other did the same. McGee also hurriedly turned his radio on. At least he'd be able to keep track of his team.

Gibbs met up with the two FBI-agents. After a quiet deliberation, which McGee couldn't hear, they headed off towards the house the FBI had seen Benny enter.

McGee swung his legs out of the car and sat sideways, looking at the retreating backs of his team. He watched them take up positions around the house. He saw Gibbs knock on the door, yell out "Federal Agents," and then they were inside and out of sight.

Unable to stay still he got out of the car and started pacing alongside it. His cell phone rang, the shrill sound making him start in surprise and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Abby.

"McGee, you're a genius!" she bubbled. "I did find Tucker's niece's cell phone, and it's being used right now, right where you are. West Maple Street 1252."

McGee looked sharply at the house his team had just entered and the numbers on the wall next to the front door. "You mean 1244, right?"

He could almost hear Abby frown over the phone. "No, 1252."

"Oh, no." McGee hung up on Abby and brought the radio microphone up to his mouth and shouted, "Gibbs, you're in the wrong house!"

Then he heard gunshots. One, two, three. He froze, stood absolutely still, staring at the house. There was another gunshot.

"Boss?" he asked over the radio.

"Not now," Gibbs barked back at him, and then he heard gunfire again, and then it was quiet.

McGee stood still, biting his lip in anxiety, waiting for something… anything. A sudden sound behind him made him spin around. It'd been the sound of a screen door slamming into the wall of West Maple Street 1252 and with a sinking feeling in his stomach he saw Benny, with his shirt unbuttoned, run out of the house, a scantily clad woman standing in the doorway, looking after him.

"Gibbs," McGee hissed into the radio. "Benny's here, he's coming out of a house further down the street."

"Dammit," Gibbs swore. "McGee, stay where you are. You hear me?"

"But he's getting away, Boss." McGee saw keys in Benny's hand, keys that presumably went with the car parked across the street.

"I'm serious, McGee," Gibbs yelled in his ear. "Don't move a muscle, we'll be right there."

McGee hesitated, then he said, "Sorry, boss," pulled the radio earpiece out of his ear and drew his gun, holding it somewhat clumsily in a one hand grip he wasn't used to.

"Benny," he yelled, running down the street. "NCIS, federal agent. Stop or I'll shoot."

Benny stopped in the middle of the street, not two steps away from his car and turned to face him.

"Tiny Tim?" he said, his face a mixture of bewilderment and contempt. "Don't tell me that you're a bloody NCIS agent."

"Surprise," McGee said wryly, grateful that his voice kept steady, stopping at what he deemed was a safe distance. "Now get down on the ground."

"Yeah, right," Benny sneered, making a move towards his side, and McGee just knew he'd have a gun there.

"Hold it," McGee called, taking a few steps further towards him and Benny froze in mid-motion, his eyes narrowing as he took measure of McGee, clearly not liking what he saw.

"You won't shoot me," he challenged McGee, taking two intimidating steps towards him.

But this time it didn't affect McGee. "I don't want to," he said, "But I can and I will if it's necessary. Now, put your hands up and get down on the ground."

"Oh, come on, Timmy," Benny said with a supercilious face. "You don't have the guts and you know it. So I'm gonna walk away and you're not going to do anything about it." He turned around and started walking towards his car.

Hoping that his momentarily hesitation hadn't been noticeable, McGee turned his gun upwards and fired into the air. Benny spun around, his body in the beginning of a crouch, his eyes dangerously narrowed and his hand once again moving towards his gun holster.

"Don't!" McGee warned him, internally begging him not to draw. He didn't want to be forced to shoot.

"McGee!" Suddenly there was an angry shout behind him.

McGee didn't look back, he really didn't, but his eyes shifted ever so slightly and his body twitched in automatic response to his boss' voice. That minute distraction was all Benny needed. In a flash he had his own gun out, but he was in too much of a hurry to aim properly. His shots came in a rapid succession.

McGee threw himself to the ground, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder as he struck the pavement, stuck his arm out and blindly squeezed off a few shots. A pained scream told him that he'd hit his mark. Then stomping feet rushed past him and a moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Probie? You okay?" Tony wondered.

McGee rolled around, panting. "I'm fine," he said, staring up into the sky.

"Then why are you bleeding again?"

McGee groaned, his hand going to his shoulder. He'd torn his stitches again. Ducky would not be pleased.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked. "I heard gunshots."

"We're fine," Tony reassured him.

Suddenly the sun was blocked out as Gibbs loomed over him.

"Dammit, McGee," he barked. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the car?"

"Sorry, boss."

Gibbs grunted at him. "Get off the ground. DiNozzo, call an ambulance."

"I'm okay, Boss," McGee assured him as Tony helped him stand up.

"Who said it was for you?"

* * *

TBC…


	13. Chapter 13

Once Tony got McGee back up on his feet McGee was facing West Maple Street 1244. Four men were sitting on the lawn in front of the house with their hands cuffed behind their backs, being guarded by the FBI agents. McGee recognized both Logan and Pete, the two men that had been with Benny on the night of his attack and he felt relieved that they had been arrested. One of the agents held a blood splattered handkerchief to the back of his head, but he didn't seem too badly injured.

"Is he okay?" McGee asked Tony.

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. "One of the gang members weren't so lucky though. He took a round to the chest and didn't make it."

"What happened?"

Tony sighed. "When we went in they were in the kitchen, cutting cocaine. The FBI had had a tip about a large shipment coming in, that's why they had this place under surveillance. They have to take it in and analyze it but Agent Woodford, that's the agent with the head injury, he estimates that it has a street value of about 5 million dollars."

McGee whistled. "Not bad. The FBI has to be happy now then."

"Well," Tony said. "At least they can pin drug charges on those guys, but unfortunately they're only low-level players. So they've got their job cut out for them, trying to tie it to a bigger name. Anyway, you don't have that much cocaine in a house without being heavily armed and… well, you heard the gunshots. Ziva and Woodford came in through the backdoor, so we managed to surround them. After that it was pretty easy to get them to give up, especially with their friend being killed."

"What about Benny?" McGee asked. "The FBI said that he'd gone into the house with the others, right?" He turned around and watched Ziva none too gently wrestle Benny over on his stomach so she could handcuff him. The others could've helped her of course, but they doubted that she'd appreciate missing a chance to manhandle him a little.

McGee frowned. He was sure that he'd hit Benny. And Benny had screamed as if he'd been shot, but McGee couldn't see any blood.

"Gibbs asked that bozo Logan that too," Tony said, although his tone of voice suggested that 'asked' was just a politically correct term of how Gibbs had addressed Logan. "Just before you told us you'd spotted Tucker, Logan said that Tucker'd gone out the backdoor and cut through the backyards to get to this girl he usually hooks up with. That's why the FBI never saw him leave."

The sound of sirens made McGee turn back to the crime scene. More FBI agents were coming, too late for back-up but just in time to help manage the arrested gang members. An ambulance pulled up behind them, having been called by dispatch, so Tony never had to make the call Gibbs had ordered him to.

The paramedics rushed into the house but came out again a minute later. There was nothing they could do for that gang member. He was long gone. One of the paramedics took a hold of the injured FBI agent and pulled him with him to the ambulance. The other paramedic started towards them.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs called. "Help Ziva get Tucker over to the ambulance."

"But they're coming here, Boss," Tony said, pointing down the street.

"Well, let's just say we meet them half-way," Gibbs said coldly, and as he and Ziva pulled Benny up on his feet McGee saw that one of Benny's white sneakers had turned red. He'd been shot in the foot and suddenly it was very clear why Gibbs wanted Benny to walk, or hobble, on his own. That had to hurt.

Tony took over Gibbs' hold on Benny's arm and he and Ziva started ushering Benny down the street while Gibbs beckoned for McGee to join him. Benny's gun was lying on the ground and Gibbs picked it up with a pen to preserve Benny's fingerprints.

"What's your serial number?" he asked McGee and McGee rattled it off from memory. Gibbs compared it with the gun he was holding and smiled.

"It's yours," he said. "We've got him."

-----------------------------

McGee sat silently on a gurney in an ER cubicle, staring at his own clasped hands. Ziva leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed over her chest, keeping him company in silence. She hadn't been happy with the assignment, she'd much rather be guarding Benny.

The ER had been packed, but after a long wait McGee had finally gotten the broken stitches in his shoulder repaired again. Luckily there was no new damage to it and he was otherwise unharmed.

Tony and Gibbs walked in, Tony beaming from ear to ear. "Nice shot, McGee," he praised enthusiastically.

McGee looked up. "What? Benny? Is he gonna be okay?"

"Oh, he's going to be fine," Tony drawled. "He's gonna be known as Nine Toe-Tucker for the rest of his life though."

McGee frowned, a little slow on the uptake. "What?"

"You shot his toe off, McGee. Blew it to smithereens, poof, gone forever…"

McGee held up a hand. "Thank you, Tony. I get the picture." Then he looked suspiciously at Gibbs. "You didn't… uh… do anything to him, did you Boss?"

"What do you think?" Gibbs growled at him.

"Well, he couldn't, could he?" Tony said cheekily. "This is a public building after all, lots and lots of witnesses—" A slap to the head cut him off. "Thank you, Boss."

But when Gibbs turned away Tony stage-whispered, "He stared at him the whole time, though."

Gibbs turned back to him, his face clearly showing what he thought of Tony at the moment.

"Just like that actually," Tony said.

"Are you finished?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, Boss," Tony assured him.

"I was asking McGee," Gibbs told him humorlessly.

"Oh…" McGee said. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good, let's get you back to Ducky's place then." Gibbs turned around and started walking, confident that the others would follow. "Ziva, Tony, Tucker's been patched up and is ready to be transported. Go."

"With pleasure," Ziva smirked.

"Uh, Boss. I was thinking…" McGee started, trailing after his boss. "Maybe it's time for me to go back to my own place."

Gibbs turned back again, looking at McGee.

"Or I could go to Ducky's," McGee conceded. "Ducky's place is good."

-----------------------------

But somehow both Gibbs and McGee ended up at the Navy Yard. Gibbs couldn't quite figure it out. Leaving the hospital, he'd had every intention of taking McGee to the nearest bed and give him a handcuff tuck-in if it proved necessary, thinking that he was way overdue for a proper rest, but somehow McGee had convinced him that going back to the office was a better idea. Either McGee was getting slicker, or Gibbs was getting softer. Gibbs really hoped it was the first one.

They rode up silently in the elevator when Gibbs suddenly sighed, leaned forward and flicked the switch that stopped the elevator. The lights flickered off, leaving them in a familiar gloom.

McGee tensed. Was this about him not staying in the car? Because he really thought he'd done the right thing. Otherwise Benny would've gotten away.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, turning to him.

McGee looked almost surprised. "Sure. It was just a couple of stitches."

"Not that," Gibbs all but growled. He didn't like having to do the mushy stuff. "With everything that's happened, how are you doing?"

"Oh, that, er, I'm okay…" McGee trailed off, his eyes moving down to his own feet. Lying to Gibbs was never an option. In fact, it was never a possibility. Looking up again at his boss' serious face he said, "I'm getting there I guess. It feels great that we've caught Benny, but… uh… there's the… uh… And sometimes I'm… uh… uh… And with the… you know… sometimes at night…"

Gibbs nodded, hearing every word that wasn't being said.

"It's just that… It's not that easy," McGee gave up trying to explain.

"It's not supposed to be," Gibbs said seriously. "There are things you never get over, things you carry with you for the rest of your life. No one's expecting to you to be okay right away, you're going to need a lot of time. But I have confidence in you. You're strong minded, you've shown that you can be the bigger man and your heart is in the right place. You're going to be fine."

"Uh… thanks, Boss." McGee was completely taken aback by Gibbs' statement. He hadn't expected that and it showed on his face.

"Good," Gibbs patted him on the shoulder. "And remember, if you need to talk…"

"I'll go see Ducky or Abby."

Gibbs grinned. McGee's wit was back. That was a good sign. He turned around and reached for the switch to start the elevator again, but McGee stopped him.

"Boss? How… how much trouble am I in?"

"Trouble?"

"For shooting Benny. I mean, I wasn't supposed to be involved."

Gibbs scrubbed a hand tiredly over his face. "It was self-defense, McGee, you had no choice. No one will dispute that. If anyone's in trouble it's me."

"You, Boss?"

"I'm your boss. You weren't supposed to be there. I knew that and I brought you anyway and put a gun in your hand. If there's any fallout from this, it's going to be on me… and that's what you're going to say if anyone asks. My responsibility, McGee, not yours. Remember that."

"But…"

"No buts, McGee. My responsibility. By the way, have you talked to your family yet?" Gibbs asked.

McGee looked down. "No, I didn't think they needed to know."

"The same way we didn't need to know?" Gibbs asked with a raised eyebrow.

McGee looked up. "You needed the facts to be able to catch a criminal."

"That wasn't why we needed to know. We needed to know because it happened to you. We needed to know so that we could help you. You really should talk to your family. They can help too."

McGee remained silent, thoughtful, but as Gibbs leaned forward and flicked the switch again he said, "I guess the suffering in silence gets old after awhile, huh?" He was thinking of Abby and her little tantrum earlier in the day. "Boss, I've got some vacation time saved up."

"Take a week… after you've finished your paperwork. And McGee… Good job."

"Thanks, Boss."

"But if you ever disobey my orders again…"

"Read you loud and clear, Boss."

-----------------------------

Later that night, Benny was wearing an orange jumpsuit and was securely locked away, and with the exception of his court days, no one expected to see him in a more flattering attire for a very, very long time.

The interrogation hadn't been pretty. An interrogation hadn't been strictly necessary as they already had everything they needed to bring Benny up on multiple serious charges and of course no one expected any kind of confession, but that hadn't stopped the team. They weren't going to hand Tucker over to a prison without having a little chat with him first.

Tony and Ziva had bickered about who would get a crack at him first, but they had been bypassed by Gibbs who'd simply stepped around them, although they'd all gotten their turn. Even Abby had come up for a piece of the action, but of course Gibbs hadn't let her into the interrogation room.

Knowing that Benny wasn't easily intimidated they'd all brought their A-game and McGee hadn't been surprised to see Benny look uncharacteristically shaken as he was escorted to the prison transport. Neither had he been surprised to see a very satisfied smile on Ziva's face.

Even though he knew things were far from over, McGee still felt rather satisfied as he sat at his desk, helping to sort through and organize all the paperwork. Sure, telling his story over and over again to lawyers grilling him wouldn't be a picnic. In fact it would be nauseatingly nerve-racking and fodder for many more nightmares, but at least Benny had been captured. He couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

Moving a folder out of the way, McGee unexpectedly found an envelope. The content of the envelope had been written on its outside. It contained the pictures that had been taken of him at the hospital a week ago. The others probably hadn't intended for that one to end up in his to-do pile.

Sitting stock-still he hesitated. He hadn't actually seen his own back; he wasn't a contortionist after all. But he'd heard the doctors and nurses talking in the hospital, even though he'd been pretty out of it at the time. The police that had taken the photos had asked if he wanted to see them but it hadn't seemed like a good idea then.

But now… everyone else had seen his back. And Ducky had said that it wasn't too bad. Of course, he could've been speaking from a medical standpoint. Although that would be good too, if it meant that there wouldn't be any scaring. How would he be able to explain having a big, shiny 'geek' eternally etched on his back to any future girlfriends? Maybe he could convince them that it was body art, a statement against superficial social structures or something.

McGee clutched the envelope in his hand. He was stalling. Did he or didn't he want to see... Maybe it would be good for him. Maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe he was just making excuses… He slowly opened the envelope. Wow, that was a lot of photos. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone-dry.

He reached in and closed his hand around the photos, hesitating another moment before extracting them. Holding his breath he turned them face up and spread them out on his desk. Oh god…

He felt so detached. There had to be a mistake. This couldn't be his back. It just couldn't. Yes, his back had hurt, but not like this. Those words… This _couldn't_ be him. And then it dawned on him. This wasn't him. Tony had been right that first day, in the men's room. This wasn't him. This was Benny, all Benny. Benny was the one who couldn't put things behind him. Benny was the one who couldn't move on, or grow up or make sane decisions.

But he could. He had. He was a bloody NCIS agent after all! And he was good at it. There would always be Bennys in the world. He was just grateful that he wasn't one of them.

Tony looked up from his desk and saw the blank stare McGee had turned on the photos.

"Hey there, Probie. Whatcha doin'?" he asked carefully, recognizing the photos.

"I was just thinking…" McGee said slowly.

"About?" Tony prodded.

"About that saying, you know. Sticks and stones may break my bones…"

"…but words can never hurt me," Tony finished for him.

There was a snort from Ziva's desk "Words can never hurt me? Who came up with that stupid saying? You Americans have such a strange relationship with your language, you know. I mean, the counting of chickens for example, what's that all about?"

"It's an idiom," Tony said. "A figure of speech. You're supposed to read between the lines, think outside the box, all that."

"See, that's what I mean," Ziva said. "You can't even explain an idiom without using other idioms. You're not really giving people a fair chance, are you?"

McGee let the argument wash over him as he gathered up the photos and stuffed them back into the envelope. This was his life, just the way he liked it.

The End

-----------------------------

**A/N: **Well, that's all folks. It's been a fun ride, I've hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks a million for all the wonderful reviews, I appreciate every last one of them.


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